The Nine Possible Lives of Chuck and Sarah
by WestieHopper
Summary: A series of unrelated one-shots featuring several what-if scenarios for our dear Chuck and Sarah.  Story 2: The Analyst and the Valkyrie.
1. Chapter 1

I've had various Chuck and Sarah alternate reality/alternate meeting stories running through my head for the longest time. Several months ago, I started writing out the first of those stories. I now have written out vague outlines for eight more story ideas after this one. Interestingly enough, my ideas have stopped at nine, and I haven't really had any more that have me itching to try out. Doesn't mean that it won't eventually happen, which is why I leave the option open for more.

The best thing about writing a series of one-shots is that I don't have to worry that my inability to write and complete multi-chapter stories – caused by a deficit of patience and a really really short attention span – will cause anyone to be left hanging because I've lost interest after the first chapter. Also, I won't feel like I'm letting anyone down if I end up not writing all nine stories.

Enjoy, and let me know what you think. And if you can think of a good title for this one, I'm all ears.

_**Story One: **_

The CIA training facility, located in a once thriving and now largely abandoned blue collar worker community, had been a combined roller skating and ice rink at one time. On the outside, the large building appeared a dilapidated version of what it had been in its glory days, untouched by any kind of efforts to maintain its facade, and weathered by at least twenty years of Mother Nature's wind, rain, and storms. There was a distinctly pungent smell in the air, which seemed like a mixture of rotten eggs, spoiled milk, and a variety of other unpleasant things she did not care to imagine, let alone name.

She had entered in through a back door, which had probably once been a popular smoking area for the rink's numerous staff. The old Grecian style urn planter situated next to the door would have been an perfect place for careless teenage employees to put out their cigarette butts and leave them. There were no signs of an overabundance of human presence, aside from some graffiti that had likely been painted recently just in case someone managed to get past the fences that surrounded the building. She had to give the CIA points for not giving away that something special was still going on there.

Once she had identified herself and been allowed inside, at first she hadn't see much of an improvement over the outside. The once brightly – and ghastly – mural covered walls were muted by a covering of dirt and dust and the sound of the her shoes crunching on the floor indicated that it had not been swept in years. And was that old gum she had felt sticking to the bottom of her expensive, not-so-sensible shoes? The farther she'd been led through the halls of the building, the worse it had seemed to get. She had been about to resign herself to the indignity of it all when her 'tour guide' inputted a code into a hidden security panel, pressed his hand to a scanner, then opened a large, thick metal door and ushered her inside.

Only her deeply ingrained professionalism had kept her mouth from falling open in shock and awe. It was almost as magnificent as the training facilities at Camp Peary, almost. Not quite as, but by no means unimpressive.

There were at least two spacious sections she could see, the larger one right in front of her eyes, and the other further back, separated only by a large wall of glass. At one end of the larger room, which was considerable in both width and height – she never would have been able to judge from the outside of the building that such a space was possible – was a set of bleachers, where one could sit to observe the entire space. Wrestling mats were placed all over, a challenging obstacle course took over a large portion of the floor, and a steep climbing wall resided in one corner. When she had looked high up at one wall, she could see a long line of tinted windows, which she had immediately ascertained to be an observation area.

Before she could take a more detailed note about the finer points of the training space, she had been greeted by an Agent Cliffords, whom she knew from her briefing was the agent in charge of the facility. The older man, who appeared to be nearing retirement age, had greeted her more pleasantly and openly than many of the agents with whom she was used to dealing. According to his file, he was well liked, but respected, tough, but fair, impressive in skill, but humble of his ability, so she probably shouldn't have been surprised that she took an immediate liking to him.

Instead of giving her a tour of the facility, which he had promised would happen later, they had made their way upstairs to a room that had once been a party and conference room. It was the observation area that she had recognized while downstairs. After he had escorted her into the room, Cliffords had got a message through an ear piece, and excused himself to take care of an important matter, urging her to sit and make herself at home.

And so, here she was, alone for now, in an empty room in a CIA training facility, wondering once again what this super secret meeting of hers was supposed to be about. Her briefing yesterday with Director Graham himself had given her absolutely no real instruction on what she was actually supposed to be doing here. It wasn't odd for an agent to be sent out on a mission without being given all of the details, but she was so used to having a high enough clearance for that kind of information blackout to be rare and annoying when it did happen.

She saw a file sitting on a conference table – strange, leaving it out in the open like that – but had no orders to look it over, so instead, she ignored it to take a peek out the observation window, which wasn't situated above the larger training room, but rather the smaller one. While standing there, she watched as Cliffords entered the room with two men she did not recognize.

Leaning closer to the widow, she noticed that both men were of similar height, but entirely different builds, and wearing the same standard, ugly government issued sweat suits. Neither of them looked too bad in said sweats that normally would be unflattering on most of the general population. One of the men, the taller and younger of the two, was of a lanky build, probably about half a foot taller than she, and had the most interesting curly hair that automatically gave his face character. Any lady would be lucky to have full rights to run her hands through his hair as often as she liked, which she wasn't ashamed to admit. To herself, at least.

She frowned when Cliffords spoke a few words to the men and left the room, the two remaining men beginning to spar in the most rudimentary matches of hand to hand combat she had seen in a long time She could immediately tell that the lanky man was the inexperienced of the two, likely a new recruit.

A new new recruit, she realized when his back hit the ground hard, less than half a minute into the impromptu match. She winced in sympathy. New, as in having only a few weeks of combat training, at most. He needed a lot of work, that was for certain.

Cliffords finally returned to the observation room and she turned to greet him, fully expecting him to ask her to sit down at the conference table, but he motioned for her to keep watching, which she did without speaking. He settled by her side to watch along with her.

In the next several minutes, the recruit seemed to gain some ground and catch on a little more. He took far more hits and falls than his instructor, but every once in a while, he would gain an advantage and the match would be his. For a few, tiny, _brief_ moments, of course, but she found it impressive enough for someone obviously so new to fighting like that.

Several minutes later, she felt Cliffords lean a little closer to her and heard him ask in a low, confidential voice, "So, what do you think?"

"He's very green," she said without looking away, knowing immediately what kind of assessment Cliffords expected to hear. "But he seems to have potential. How long has he been in training?"

"Four months," he responded mildly. "And you are right; we immediately recognized his potential the day he arrived here. He'll never be the same caliber as the the best of the best, but he will definitely be able to hold his own in a fight when we're done with him. Or, rather... when _you're _done with him, Agent Walker."

Sarah Walker could never have missed the subtle emphasis Agent Clifford's placed on the _you're_, even if she had been a bubble headed bimbo.

"So, this is why I'm here?" she asked, stating the obvious with a frown. "To train him in hand to hand? But... why me? I'm not an instructor, I'm a field agent. Couldn't..."

"Mr. Carmichael isn't to be trained like other agents, Agent Walker," Cliffords interrupted gently, again looking out the window. Her gaze immediately followed his and she saw that instructor and trainee had finally stopped fighting and were now sipping from water bottles. "And when he's done with his training, he's going to be partnered with you... and an NSA agent, on an important project."

"Wait," she said, shaking her head at that last unexpected bit of news, which he had slipped out oh so casually, as if it were something that happened all the time. She abruptly turned to face him. "Go back a minute. What do you mean, partnered with an NSA agent? Do you know who?"

"I don't believe that decision has been made yet," Cliffords said, looking amused that working with an NSA agent seemed to be more bothersome to her than with a raw, new recruit. "And if it has, then I haven't yet been informed."

"Okaaay," Sarah drawled, more to herself, trying to take it all in and approach the situation with an experienced agent's sensibilities. She looked out the window again and crossed her arms as she thought of the implications. "He must be a special case to pull me out of the field for this. Not to mention to have me... _us_... working with the NSA"

"Yes, he is," Cliffords responded simply, but said no more than that, seemingly content with letting her come up with her own conclusions. She noticed only from the corner of her mind.

She turned and her gaze narrowed in on the file that she had earlier disregarded and she pushed away from the wall to stride purposefully to the conference table. She picked it up and took note of the confidential stamp on the front of the brown folder, then looked to Cliffords for silent permission.

He nodded his head and sat down at the table, though Sarah did not follow suit. She opened the file, the first thing catching her eye being the recruit's picture. Most official files had agents and trainees staring stoically and expressionlessly out from their photos, but this man seemed to hold a faint, amused smile. Not a full out one, but one that was obvious enough to even the untrained eye. She was surprised that the photographer hadn't made him take another, more officially appropriate one. Sarah suspected that the person to take the picture must have been either new to the process... or smitten.

He wasn't classically handsome. Some might even classify him as nerdy – his hair and his lanky limbs certainly would not have helped his case if he wanted to argue otherwise – but she could see an appeal for some women. Sarah thought she might find it interesting to see how a female mark might react to him when he became an agent.

Agent Cliffords had called the trainee Carmichael, but she immediately saw that this was not his real name. His actual name was redacted and she realized that she might never know his birth name. She automatically shrugged it off. It would be hypocritical for her to mind, because she personally was never going to be revealing her _own_ birth name to anyone any time soon.

She skimmed through the file quickly, but thoroughly, and saw that most information about his past had been redacted: his hometown, his schooling, and his previous employment, et cetera. She was surprised to see that he was only a year younger than herself. He looked a lot younger in his picture and downstairs in the training room.

"He's older than most recruits," she observed absently while flipping to the next page. After doing so, she then looked at Cliffords more solidly. "Usually, the CIA prefers to recruit straight out of high school or during the college years."

"All true," Cliffords said, nodding. "But like I said, he's a special case. Read on."

The only thing that was really revealed was that he had been recruited after having participated in one of those paid human guinea pig research studies that was actually a front for an Agency recruitment program. The testing he had undergone had focused on subliminal image retention in human beings. Apparently, Chuck scored a whopping 98 percent, the first person they found who could retain more than 75 percent of these images in their brain.

Sarah finally sat down in one of the chairs around the conference table and flipped to the next page. It detailed a lot of the training that he had already received after being recruited. Her brows shot up at his marksmanship scores. She was a pretty damn good shot, herself, but it hadn't been until the halfway point of her own training that she'd managed to come even close to his scores. Charles Carmichael would eventually surpass her in skill in that area, she had no doubt.

She wasn't surprised to see that his weakest area was in armed and unarmed combat. The development of this skill set was noted as _the _top priority for the moment, which was, of course, one of the main reasons she was here in the first place. Already, her mind was filling with ideas of how she could approach his training, based on what she had seen of his basic capabilities. Cliffords was correct that Carmichael would never be as skilled as the best of the best, but he was going to be _good_. She was going to make certain of it. Her professional pride demanded no less.

As she read on, she discovered that he had potential in such a broad spectrum of skills that he seemed almost an ideal candidate for Agency officer training. Which immediately made her wonder what his Achilles's Heel was eventually going to reveal itself to be. Everyone had at least one flaw that could potentially cause their downfall in either training or in the field, though nobody, including herself, really liked to admit it.

She was about to start reading Carmichael's psych profile when Cliffords suddenly lifted his hand to his ear piece, catching her attention. After listening carefully to the person speaking to him, he looked at Sarah with a warm smile.

"How would you like to meet Mr. Carmichael in person right now?" he asked as he stood up.

Sarah rose immediately to her feet.

"I'd love to, of course," she responded just before there was a knock on the door.

She watched as Cliffords opened the door and greeted the person standing on the other side. He moved back to let Carmichael in. The two men briefly shook hands and shared affable smiles with each other before they focused on her.

"Mr. Carmichael," Cliffords said. "Allow me to introduce you to the agent I was telling you about earlier, Valkyrie."

Sarah was taken aback by Clifford's use of a code name that was obviously hers, though this was the first she'd ever heard it. That surprise only lasted a mere moment as Carmichael's eye lids started to flutter strangely and she had to take an unconscious step forward because it looked like he was about to fall to the floor into a seizure. She stopped in her tracks when he seemed to shake himself out of it and his expression turned a little sheepish.

"Sorry about that," he apologized with a small wince, his shoulders hunching slightly as he brushed a shaky hand through his unruly, and shower dampened hair. "I'm not sure I'll ever get used to that."

Carmichael's posture then straightened and his whole demeanor quickly brightened before he stepped forward with a grin, extending his hand out to her. She took his sudden recovery in stride, accepting his handshake, though she had to admit she was a little shaken by the oddness of what had just happened.

"Are you okay?" she asked, her eyes searching his face, thinking that he certainly couldn't be an epileptic. He never would have made it into training if he'd had such a medical condition, special case or not.

"Oh, I'm fine. It's all part of the experience, I suppose." Sarah frowned at this very mysterious pronouncement, feeling as if she was missing a very big piece of the puzzle here. Plus, there was the fact that he was speaking to her as if she was supposed to know what he meant. _What_ was going on? "It's very nice to meet you, Agent Walker. I've been looking forward to meeting you."

The genuineness that was his pleasure to meet her could not be batted away without having some kind of effect on her. She found herself, not for the first time today, taking an almost instant liking to another human being. First, Agent Cliffords, and now this mysterious trainee, Charles Carmichael. She had no idea what the world was coming to or if maybe this was just a sign of what was to come.

"Likewise, Mr. Carmichael," she responded, fully meeting his gaze, and there was something about looking into his kind eyes that made her almost forget where she was.

"Please, call me Chuck," she heard him say.

"Sarah," she responded back, then after some time of feeling as if she was floating somewhere above herself, she suddenly came back to earth and looked down at their still connected hands.

Carmichael, or rather, Chuck, followed her gaze downward. Without even looking back at each other, they seemed to mutually come to the same decision at the same time and simultaneously released their grips and took a small step back.

From the side, Sarah heard someone clear their throat and she turned to see Agent Cliffords looking at the both of them with an air of amusement. Feeling her face grow warm, she mentally chastised herself for losing her focus and forgetting herself.

"Now that we've been introduced," Agent Cliffords said, unashamedly amused by what he had just witnessed. "I do believe it's time to discuss our next step here. Please sit down, the both of you."

The amusement was still in Cliffords' voice, but it was tempered now by a more professional tone that brooked no argument from either one of them. Sarah moved toward the long table and was startled – she really needed to start acting like a spy again – when Chuck reached the table first and pulled out her chair for her. Ignoring the warm feeling the simple, chivalric action caused, she glanced up at him as she sat and nodded in thanks.

Chuck sat on the opposite side of her while Cliffords sat at the head of the table.

"Okay, as you both have been informed, Agent Walker has been brought here to help with Mr. Carmichael's training with the intention that you will later be partnered together once the training is over." Cliffords turned his attention to Sarah and she immediately straightened in her seat. "Agent Walker, are you in any way familiar with a Project Omaha?"

"I've heard of it, sir, but I've never been informed of its true purpose." Project Omaha was really only familiar to her in that it had a lot of wild rumors attached to it, none of which had sounded as if they hadn't come directly from the summary of a science fiction novel. In response, she had dismissed them all as flights of fantasy. "What exactly _is_ Project Omaha?"

"Basically, at the moment, and in many ways, Mr. Carmichael _is _Project Omaha." At this, Sarah frowned. That made absolutely no sense to her. Project Omaha was started long before Chuck was recruited. Before even _she _was recruited. Cliffords turned to Chuck and addressed him for the first time. "Chuck, you are more familiar with Omaha than I am, so why don't you take this one."

"Sure thing, sir," Chuck responded and adjusted his position so he was facing Sarah instead of the head of the table where Cliffords stood. He nodded at the folder that was on the table. "I take it you read my file, but didn't quite get to the good parts yet?"

"I only got as far as your training."

"Okay, so you know that my recruitment came about because of a research study I did several months ago...?"

"Yes." Sarah nodded slowly. "It was a study on the retention of subliminal images."

"Absolutely. _That _is the basis of Project Omaha. Encrypting intel into image and video files, then storing them in a person's brain, to be recalled when that person is exposed to certain external stimuli, such as a photograph, an object, or the sound of a voice." The enthusiasm with which he spoke was catching and she found herself leaning forward in her seat, tensing in anticipation of his next words. "I mean, my nerd brain just marvels at all of the possibilities for this thing! Not just in espionage, but in computer science... and medicine. What if one day, the things we discover about this... technology helps us find the cure for Alzheimer's or heal traumatic brain injuries?"

"That would be pretty amazing," she agreed, but unfortunately, knowing who she worked for, she knew that the higher ups most likely placed healing brain injuries and other neurological impairments at the very bottom of the list of things they intended to do with it. It probably didn't even make the list.

Chuck's tone soon turned wry, and maybe even a little cynical, almost as if he had picked up on that thought and was echoing it. "Or at least that's how they pitched it to me when they gave me their little 'your-country-is-calling-you' recruitment speech. They certainly know how to bait the hook, don't they?"

"They definitely have it down to a science," she agreed.

"So, anyway, that is the basic gist of it. A few months ago, it came to the Agency's attention that a rogue group operating on the fringes of the CIA was going to make an attempt to steal the project's research and database of intel. I guess it was a lucky coincidence they'd found me when they did because they were forced to use their last resort protocol, which was to destroy the database and facility it was contained within."

She wasn't sure if lucky was the correct word. Telling him about this research, this rogue group, and actually downloading the intel into his head meant that they didn't mean to ever let him go. She wondered if he sensed that he was, in essence, trapped

Remembering what had happened when Chuck had first entered the room and Cliffords had called her Valkyrie...

"Wait a minute!" she quietly exclaimed, stiffening in her seat. "So, that's what that was. You... you have my information in your head! He gave you a code name and that triggered my file... and you..." An uncomfortable thought began in her mind and quickly sank into the pit of her stomach. Her eyes narrowed at him and she, with ill-concealed suspicion, asked, "What exactly did you see in my file?"

Obviously, he understood what she was really asking and _why_, as he immediately rushed to reassure her, "Oh, no, don't worry, Sarah; it's nothing like what you're thinking. The information it gave me was only limited to the basics: name, age, clearance level... physical description. Basically, anything anyone can get from the non-redacted parts of your files."

The honesty and earnestness of his reassurance calmed her somewhat, though she remained disconcerted by the idea that a human being could have potentially invasive information – _her _information – about another person in their brains, stuff that nobody had a right to know without the other person's knowledge or permission. Sure, she had files in the system that any hacker worth their salt could access if they were so determined, but Chuck had called up that information based on one word. One. Word. He didn't even have to _work_ to access it; he just did.

The potential implications boggled – and troubled – the mind_. _Chuck's lips were still moving, so Sarah focused again on him. "One of the things I'm working on is control and I promise I'll never purposefully flash on your file. Not without your specific permission. Are you okay with that?"

"Uh, yeah," Sarah responded vaguely, then gave herself a mental shake. She gave him her own reassuring smile, inelegant though it was, making sure that her voice matched the lightness that was hopefully in her expression. "That's fine. It doesn't really bother me all that much..." _Liar, _her inner voice taunted, but she felt that the little white lie was worth it, if only because it caused Chuck's anxious face to relax significantly. "It's just a bit... weird."

"Don't I know it," he emphatically agreed with a firm nod. "Imagine being the one to _have _this information inside your head."

Okay, so he totally trumped her there. Chuck looked like he was about to say more, but off to the side, they heard the sound of a polite clearing of the throat. The second one they'd received during their entire meeting.

Cliffords... damn. Again, she'd forgotten that he was in the room with them. She really needed to get a grip and return to the professional behavior she'd been trained for, before her unusual inattentiveness got her reassigned _away _from this assignment. This one meeting had her wanting to be on this assignment so badly, more than any other since her very first official one as a newly minted agent.

Sarah couldn't say for certain if it was for the challenge... or because of Chuck.

Both Chuck and she slowly turned to face Cliffords, each with their own sheepish expression.

"Well, it looks like the two of you will be getting along _just_ _fine_," he said, again looking more amused than upset that she forgot her professionalism with Chuck. Cliffords then stood up, with Chuck and Sarah automatically rising to their feet in response. His smile was warm as he directed it toward Sarah. "Now that you've been introduced, I'll now leave Mr. Carmichael in your capable hands, Agent Walker."

Sarah was confused; that was it? Introduce her to Carmichael, drop the Omaha bombshell, then walk away without giving her her mission parameters? She stared at Clifford's offered hand for a moment before shaking it belatedly. "What are my orders, sir?"

"Your orders are to come up with a training schedule for Mr. Carmichael, then begin within the next two days. I will be here if you need anything, but other than that, any new orders will come directly to you through the Director. Good evening, Agent Walker." Cliffords extended his hand to Chuck this time, who in return, shook it with the genuineness she was coming to expect from him. "And you, too, Chuck."

"Good evening, sir," Chuck responded, and soon Cliffords had collected Chuck's file from her and was out of the room, leaving her and Chuck alone together. They stared at each other awkwardly for a few moments, and Sarah was at a loss for what to say. Chuck seemed to sense this because he suddenly stood up straighter and gave Sarah the grin she suspected she might have trouble resisting one day. "So, Sarah Walker, CIA. Have you had anything for dinner, yet? There's this nice little restaurant not too far from here that I hear has _superior_ lasagna. Maybe we can talk, get to know each other... discuss what happens next?"

"Uh, sure, sure. That sounds like an excellent idea." Surprisingly enough, she was hungry, and the prospect of _superior_ lasagna was very tempting, though lasagna was generally not her preferred Italian food of choice. She smiled. "I could eat."

"Awesome," was his only response... or at least his only verbal response. Chuck's grin also seemed to widen and brighten even further than she would have thought possible, and it very nearly blinded her.

After Chuck had guided her through the protocols for entering and leaving the facility on her own, Sarah followed his car to the restaurant he was talking about. While she instinctively kept her eyes out for any tails as she followed him, her mind was a mess of thoughts and feelings the entire drive. And they weren't solely centered on Chuck and the effect he seemed to have on her, but also on what dangers existed with a project like Omaha.

There was so much that was not said. However, now that she knew what the project was about, she was easily able to connect it to the Intersect computer, which was likely the source of the Intel Chuck had alluded to, but didn't name. She'd heard that it had been destroyed by what many had assumed was a rogue operative whose name was being kept buried, but she'd had no idea that the information contained within it had been transferred to somebody's _brain. _ Or that it even _could_. The danger that Chuck – and by extension herself and the NSA operative assigned to their team – would be in, was both thrilling and troubling. She didn't know how many people knew about this human Intersect, but if word got out, every bad guy in the world would be either gunning for him, or salivating to capture him.

It was fortunate that so far Chuck seemed to be up to the task of becoming a capable spy, but until he was field ready, which she knew would have to be sooner than later, he would need to be protected. And while she really disliked the idea of having to also be partnered with an NSA operative, if she needed to swallow her pride and cooperate peaceably with the agent, then she'd do it.

It was with that thought that they reached the restaurant. And somehow, Chuck, being a lot quicker than she had expected, had already exited his car and had approached hers by the time she stepped out onto the parking lot pavement.

"Well, Agent Walker, are you prepared to have your taste buds singing with joy," he lightly asked, offering her one of his arms.

Sarah cocked her head to look up at him with a bemused smile, then amiably hooked her hand through the offered arm and placed a gentle pressure on it, prompting him to walk along casually with her as she countered, "How do you know the food isn't so terrible it'll make my taste buds cringe in disgust? Have you ever eaten here before?"

"Nope," he said, smacking the 'p' with his lips, and he somehow managed to pull her even closer to him, so she could feel the heat seeping from his side into hers. She ignored the slight, pleasant thrill that his warmth caused in her gut. "But I do have it on very good authority from a trusted source that the food here can be likened to a rapturous experience. When it comes to food, I trust his word _implicitly_."

Sarah had a reply on the tip of her tongue about trust being something that got you killed, but he was talking about civilian matters_, _not espionage, so she bit her tongue, and just went along with it.

"Well, then, as you seem to be a very astute person, I suppose I'll have to trust he hasn't led you astray," she responded teasingly. "But I reserve the right to smack your source upside the head should his recommendation be lacking."

Chuck got a brief expression on his face at her words, as if he had something mischievous to say about that, but was debating whether it was appropriate or not.

They approached the restaurant's entrance and Chuck held off his next comment in order to open the door for her. He gently ushered her inside with a gentlemanly pressure on her lower back, with the kind of confidence that one would expect a boyfriend taking his long time girlfriend on a date would have under normal circumstances. He entered after her and was immediately at her side again, linking their arms again.

"Perhaps I should text him right now and give him fair warning that a lethal and very sexy spy may very well soon be coming after him to avenge her offended taste buds," Chuck replied lightly, while managing to still survey the space around them with a sharp, practiced eye.

To her satisfaction, Sarah had noticed that during their entire interaction as they walked across the parking lot, Chuck had been actively aware of their surroundings and subtly evaluating the area for the usual. Once inside the restaurant, that vigilance did not sway or end. She had to say she was a little impressed. He'd been in training for just a few months, but he was already acting on instinct, rather than making a concerted effort, a goal that most spies spent years cultivating, some never quite getting it right, which almost always got them killed.

She'd never really had that problem, herself, because before she was a spy, she was a con artist's daughter, and that level of attention to detail of one's environment had been drilled into her from an early age, and was merely refined through her CIA training.

Graham had definitely known what he was doing when he'd recruited her.

As she was finishing her own initial visual sweep of the restaurant, Sarah let that last, halfway bitter thought go. A lot had been asked of her over the years, things that might have broken a less resilient person, but she had a feeling that all of the pains she'd experienced in her journey were leading her to where she was now. Only time would tell if it would all turn out worthwhile.

Neither Chuck nor Sarah spoke a single word as the hostess led them to a table that Chuck had politely indicated was their preference. Sarah was pleased to note that it was, indeed, the perfect place for two spies to sit as comfortably as they were capable. It had a panoramic view of the entire restaurant and was near to almost all possible egress points. In addition, neither of their seats had them facing away from any of the exits or windows as they ate, so if any danger presented itself, their backs were not left vulnerable.

They both sat in companionable silence at the small table, practically sitting side by side, as they read their menus, for a while only commenting when one or the other found something that looked particularly good.

"This all looks really great, but what say we test out my friend's opinion on the superiority of the lasagna? We can each order a different kind. I can get the traditional and you can get the vegetable or seafood..." He paused a moment, looking awkward, as if he'd committed a major date night faux pas and needed to figure out a way to backtrack _fast_. "... Unless you'd rather order something else, because that's okay, too... Not that you need my permission or approval or anything, I'm just saying..." Chuck trailed off, an abashed expression on his face, then took a deep breath. Sarah bit the inside of her cheek, fighting back laughter, waiting patiently for him to continue. A moment later, Chuck collected himself and tried again. "Soooo, Sarah... anything in particular you'd like to order?"

"Chuck," she began, not even trying anymore to hide the laughter in her voice, but hoping that he was not going to think that she was mocking him in any way, "I do believe your idea's got merit and I was definitely thinking along those lines, too. We should do it. I'll get the vegetable lasagna and you get the traditional, and we can share. How's that sound?"

From the periphery of her vision, Sarah became aware that the waitress was approaching, and sobered a little, though not completely ridding herself of her air of pleasantness. The waitress set a small basket of different types of bread on the table and set down their complimentary first glass of wine before pulling out a notebook and asking for their order,.

When they no longer had the menus to hide behind, as the waitress had taken them to the kitchens with her, Chuck and Sarah focused on eating some of the bread and sipping at their glasses. While she delicately and deliberately spread some butter on a chunk of bread, careful not to look directly at him, Sarah could sense Chuck's eyes on her, though he was trying not to be obvious about it. Despite herself, Sarah felt her face grow warm at his appraisal. After a few moments, her face finally cooled enough that she ventured to look back up at him. When their eyes met, to his credit, he didn't look away or appear in any way embarrassed by his study of her. She smiled at him with unfeigned shyness.

"What?" she softly asked, combing through her hair with her fingers, deliberately misinterpreting his attentions. "Do I have breadcrumbs in my hair?" She then touched a fingertip to her chin, lifting a single eyebrow. "Butter on my chin?"

Chuck broke out of whatever spell he'd been under, shaking his head as if to clear the cobwebs from his head.

"No, no, nothing like that," he quickly assured and glanced down, concentrating on his fingers as they fiddled with his wine glass for a few awkward seconds before lifting his head again – not quite looking her in the eye, but more in the vicinity of the space just to the right of her head. "I'm just trying to figure you out is all."

"Really?" Sarah responded, her voice still a little shy and a little flirty, but with an underlying serious edge that couldn't be ignored. "Because I was just trying to figure you out, as well."

At that, his vision sharpened and his eyes finally met hers, his expression a cross between dread and genuine curiosity.

"And have you come to any interesting conclusions?" he asked, obviously trying his best to sound casual and return her flirtatious tone.

"Not really," she said after a long, considering pause. Inexplicably – and maybe not so surprisingly – she found herself wanting to give Chuck a response that was as observant and honest as possible, instead of telling him what he needed to hear. The latter being a technique one typically used to reign in reluctant marks and that Sarah rather suspected Graham expected her to utilize in order to keep this man as compliant as possible. "Not yet, anyway. You're a nice guy, Chuck, and this is a messy business we're in. It's obvious you've got a lot of potential, but I have to wonder if you have any real idea what you're getting yourself into... what _exactly_ you're setting yourself up for."

"In all honesty, Sarah, I'm still trying to figure things out." For the first time since she'd met him, Chuck's eyes looks tired, weary, and maybe a little bit afraid. The usual underlying energy he seemed to have all afternoon and evening drained from him, causing him to slump slightly in his seat. And though it felt like it should be a contradiction to take comfort in someone's uncertainty, she was glad to see it. It made his personality seem less larger than life and more human. "Everything's happened so fast and I often find myself struggling to find my equilibrium. But... I chose my path and made my commitment, and I truly believe thisis exactly what I'm meant to be doing. No matter the personal cost."

A heavy silence settled over them at his pronouncement and it was saved from becoming entirely too uncomfortable by the arrival of their food. Sarah's appetite had diminished a bit under the weight of their discussion, but had returned once her nose caught the enticing aroma of freshly made lasagna.

"Oh, God, Chuck" she groaned before she could stop herself, taking advantage of the distraction. She leaned over slightly and breathed in the scent once again before picking up her fork and digging in. Before taking a bite, she looked back up at him. "If this lasagna tastes as amazing as it smells, I'll never doubt your source's taste in food again." She took a bite and closed her eyes briefly as she allowed the taste to settle. "Mmm. Mmph. This is really _really_ good. Here, give it a try."

Sarah gathered another bite and extended the fork in Chuck's direction, taking in his now mildly amused mixed with mildly baffled expression. He stared into her eyes with an intensity that had her stomach flopping and sent her heart beating like a drum inside of her chest. After a brief hesitation, Chuck leaned in, maintaining eye contact, and took the bite, the sound of his teeth sliding against the metal of the fork more pronounced than it might have under less intense circumstances. It sent chills through her.

"Well?" she asked, her breaths shallow and hopefully not noticeably so.

"It's very good. Mor... my source was absolutely on the mark. It is far superior to any lasagna I've ever tasted." They just stared at each other for what could have been hours, before Sarah was forced to break eye contact first in order to be capable of breathing easily once again. She heard, as if from a distance, Chuck softly said, "I'll have to thank him for opening my eyes to the wonder that is **Giordano's** lasagna when I see him next.

The quip seemed to just ease the obvious tension between them to the point where they could begin to eat in earnest without either of them needing to fill the silence with words. Which did not mean that they did not speak to each other, only that they kept the conversation to inconsequential topics, such as the weather. Never once did they touch on the subject of the Omaha Project, or the Intersect, or how they were going to go forth with his training sessions, though Chuck did make a joke about her being 99 to his 86, whatever that meant. She sensed that it was a pop culture joke, but it totally went over her head. Fortunately, she stopped herself before she completely embarrassed herself by admitting to not understanding the reference, and merely laughed at the joke... though she did think that he suspected her ineptitude, as he had just looked at her with wicked humor in his eyes.

As they waited for their waitress to process their payment, Sarah felt so much at ease with Chuck that she ventured back to the beginning of their conversation, because she really was curious about what he thought about her. "So, Chuck, you said earlier that you were trying to figure me out. Have _you _come to any interesting conclusions?"

"Well," he drawled, his eyes drifting to the side as his face took on a contemplative expression, for all intents appearing to take her question quite seriously. Which is why his response – spoken in a reflective tone – took her by surprise and it was all she could do to not stare at him gap mouthed in shock. "At first, I was thinking you could be a cannibal, but getting to know you better, you just don't seem to fit the profile. Which is too bad, 'cause I've always wanted to meet a cannibal."

She was at a loss for words for a beat or two before she realized that he was messing with her, though luckily for him it was in a good natured rather than mean spirited way. Feeling like she was getting better at keeping up with the tangents his mind went and the humor that seemed to underline most of them, she quickly recovered, and responded using her own weapons of choice to keep a man off balance.

It took her only a moment to take in the way that Chuck had casually positioned himself – with his body leaning back in his chair and his right hand resting relaxed on the table between them – and instinctively situate her own body in such a way that would hopefully maximize the impact of her response. She leaned her weight lightly against her left forearm as it rested on the table parallel to her body, and moved her right hand so that it, too, was relaxed on the table, and their fingertips were sooo close to actually touching.

"Well, I'm sorry to disappoint," she sweetly said with a mock disappointment that to the untrained ear might actually sound quite sincere, her lips almost pouting as she slowly shook her head. "But the closest I seem to come to cannibal is carnivore."

Instead of drooling, as most men would, especially when faced with the look of her face, the sound of her voice... or the way that the press of her upper body against her arm revealed just a little more of her cleavage, Chuck never broke eye contact and his face, though slightly flushed, never once relaxed from an amused half-smile, and his body never moved from that casual position against his chair the entire time she put on her little show.

"I may have to ask for another partner, then. One who has a real taste for human flesh. Unless..." he teased back, his half smile forming into a lazy smirk, as he, too, finally adjusted his position, and slowly leaned against the table, "you can figure out a way to make it up to me, somehow."

Sarah leaned even further into the ever closing gap between their faces, the sexual and emotional tension that had kept ebbing and back and forth between them the entire evening they'd spent each others' company ratcheting up another notch or two. This was really quite fun and nothing like she'd ever experienced with... 'He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.' "And how would you propose I do that?"

"Oh, I don't know," he responded, his voice low, and flirty, and, quite frankly, rather sexy, and waggled his eyebrows at her... dear heavens, that was going to be the move that had marks salivating to do exactly what he wanted them to. "I'm sure, between the two of us, we can come up with something... suitable."

Their fingertips were still so close to each other, Sarah noticed, almost, but not quite touching, and she seriously contemplated inching her hand forward just a little bit to see what would happen when their flesh connected, even just a whisper. She looked down at her fingers and just as she could feel her hand prepare to move practically of its own accord, she suddenly reared back – deliberately, in order to keep teasing him, and not because she was suddenly spooked, she tried telling herself... right – and sat back in her chair, then drank a slow, deliberate sip of her wine. She could see his smirk over the rim of the glass.

Oh, he was definitely feeling it, too.

She tried her best not break eye contact with him, though she very much wanted to at that moment, and it was with some relief that the waitress chose that moment to approach and return with their change. Chuck was the one to glance away, but only because he was polite enough to want to look at the waitress as he thanked her.

Soon, they had collected their things and were back out in the parking lot, the tension between them the elephant in the room the entire way, though this time they did not touch, let alone hook arms and walk out like they'd walked in.

When Chuck contentedly breathed the outside air in through his noise, Sarah glanced up at him and saw that he was relaxed and looking up at the stars in the clear sky. As if sensing her eyes on him, he looked down at her and smiled.

"So, I guess this is where we part ways for now, huh?" he gently said in a quiet voice, sounding disappointed, and she had to admit, the thought of ending the night right there and then wasn't a pleasant one. But she'd had a long journey across multiple time zones, and a long two days since her arrival in LA, and it would probably be in both their best interests to get some sleep.

"The night's still young," she heard herself saying without knowing ahead of time that she was going to speak or what she was going to say. "And it's too gorgeous an evening to let waste. Perhaps we can walk a little... you could show me the area? "

Chuck appeared mildly incredulous that she would suggest more time in his company, but the look quickly disappeared. "Sure," he agreed. "That sounds nice." He looked at her speculatively as if weighing her potential reaction. "There's this band playing at a local club I really enjoy listening to. Maybe we can expand your, uh... well, rather limited appreciation of music while we're there. Who knows, maybe under my influence you'll end up becoming a music connoisseur."

Sarah chuckled slightly. "Well, when you put it that way, it sounds like we have a plan. How far away is this club?"

"A few blocks down. We could leave our cars here and come back to pick them up later."

"Okay."

They began walking down the street, still not walking arm in arm as they'd had earlier, but not exactly leaving a wide open space between them, either. Every once in a while, one or both of them would sway to the side and bump against the other as they talked and joked around.

"Wait a minute," Sarah laughed, just as they were nearing an almost deserted intersection ahead. He was telling a story about his hopefully-soon-to-be-brother-in-law and she was feeling honored that he was revealing that part of his life to her. "You really call him Captain Awesome?"

Chuck laughed with her, giving her a combination of his grin and eyebrow wiggle. "Yep, his real name's Devon, and both he and my sister really hate when we call him that, but everything about him is awesome: rock climbing, hang-gliding, jumping out of airplanes..." Chuck voice drifted off when they both heard the sound of sirens approaching... As police cars came into view, he vaguely finished his sentence with what she interpreted as 'flossing' She could sense Chuck stiffening as a motorcade practically flew past them, the lights flashing and sirens blaring importantly from the cars that made up the police escort.

When the motorcade had finally passed, Chuck's posture relaxed and she reached out a hand to him, concerned. When her hand wrapped gently around his bicep, she could feel him jump as though startled. "Chuck, are you okay..." She paused, realizing just what must have happened. "Did you just... um, see something?"

"Uh, yeah," he responded, obviously still dazed, not even looking at her. He visibly shook himself out of it and finally looked at her with a frown, then rubbed at his forehead. She wondered if his... intel recalls... tended to give him headaches, and if they did, if that was a bad sign for his mental health... But, that wasn't important right now. What was important was what he saw. "That motorcade... It was escorting a General Stanfield to his big speech tonight..." He shook his head again, his face taking on a worried look. "It's funny. I've been flashing on the guy all day."

__Flashing? s__he asked herself, __is that what they're calling it?__

"And these 'flashes,'" she cautiously began, Agent Walker automatically taking over with ease. "Have they indicated any threats to the General?"

Chuck sighed. "No," he reluctantly answered, drawing out the vowel longer than was necessary. "Not exactly."

"Not exactly?" she asked with suppressed exasperation, holding back the larger frustration from her tone. These 'flashes' seemed to be somewhat disorientating and he was probably simply trying to make sense out of what he just saw. It didn't sound to her like he was purposefully holding anything back, in any case. "What do you mean, not exactly?"

"He's had many threats over the years, but lately they've been increasing in both frequency and intensity. However, for this trip in particular, the FBI and Secret Service have rated the chances of something happening during his visit as 'extremely low.'" __Of course they would, __Sarah very nearly muttered under breath. "What kind of rating system is that, anyway," Chuck continued, not seeming to sense her disdain. "Doesn't seem very profe..." He coughed. "Well, anyway, there hasn't been any evidence that something might be going down tonight."

"I can sense a 'but' there, somewhere," Sarah interjected, then brought to his attention what he did not mention seeing. "What does the CIA or NSA have to say about it?"

"None of the intel I flashed on contained anything from either of those agencies," Chuck explained with some frustration that was focused more inwardly than on her. "I could __try__ to deliberately flash to see if there is any intel from them, but I'm still learning about this thing. Right now, the only things that consistently and reliably trigger a flash are external stimuli."

Sarah could see that Chuck sensed that something might not quite be right in regards to the General's visit She was a little skeptical, mostly because he didn't flash on anything that concretely said, or even, remotely suggested that tonight's event would be interrupted by an attempt on the General's life, or a terrorist strike, but she couldn't completely disregard his instinct. She trusted her own instinct, which had saved her life on more than one occasion, and it was telling her to seriously listen to Chuck whenever he spoke about things that came from the intel inside his head.

Her decision made, she grabbed Chuck's arm again and turned them both around so they were heading back in the direction from which they came. "C'mon, let's go check it out. Maybe something there will trigger another flash."

"Are you sure?" Chuck asked uncertainly, but not protesting as she practically dragged him back to the restaurant where they'd left their cars. "Because I wouldn't want you to get in trouble if I'm wrong about this."

Sarah smiled up at him encouragingly. "Of course, I'm sure. It may be something, it may be nothing, but one of the first rules of espionage is to trust that gut instinct you get when things just don't seem to add up."

"And how do you know my gut instinct actually can be trusted?" he asked, still sounding uncertain, though his steps did not slow or hesitate.

"Because I trust my own," she said simply without feeling a need to elaborate. She could feel the adrenaline that came with a dangerous mission slowly begin to build inside of her. And from the way Chuck kept pace with her, she could tell his own adrenaline was rising inside of him, too. Good. "Now, let's go save an important General's life."

She thought she heard Chuck mutter, "Maybe," but she simply smiled, paying it no heed as they rushed back to the restaurant, and she demanded Chuck tell her everything about the flashes he'd had the entire day about Stanfield's trip to LA. Her no-nonsense tone had the desired effect and he spilled everything he knew so far. Which included a Serbian terrorist that he'd seen in the Large Mart a day ago – whom Chuck had reported to the proper channels – who probably was in LA for unrelated business.

The ride to the hotel where the General was giving his speech was spent in her own car with herself as the driver, because even though he was doing well enough with his defensive driving training, her speed and efficiency behind the wheel would always far transcend his, which she could say with only a bare hint of arrogance.

"So," she said, as she shifted gears with admirable ease that she thought Chuck might appreciate more if he wasn't clutching at his seat with a white knuckled grip. At least, he wasn't wildly clawing at anything and everything for purchase every time she made a sharp turn or accelerated abruptly... or yelling at her to slow the hell down, which had happened more than once with a number of her former assets over the years. She wouldn't admit it out loud to anyone, aside from herself, or maybe even Chuck, but she'd often done it more for her own amusement than actual need for it. She was glad Chuck was made out of sterner stuff. "When we get to the hotel, what's the plan?"

Chuck looked over at her incredulously. "Plan? It was your idea to do this in the first place, never mind his security detail is likely doing a rather sufficient job in keeping him safe, anyway."

"Chuck, somehow, I seriously doubt that, " she interrupted shortly, glancing at him for a moment before returning her focus back on the road. "With the threat rating the Secret Service and FBI gave his trip, General Stanfield is most likely going with hired private security, or maybe even just hotel security. I might feel better about his chances if the Bureau or Service were spearheading the security detail. But they're not. And not only that, even if they were involved, I'm pretty certain none of them would have access to the same intel that you do or the skill to put it all together the way you obviously can."

"Okay, point," Chuck conceded with a stiff smile as she made yet another sharp turn. "But __still, __you're expecting me to come up with a plan, when I have the bare minimum of... well, all kinds of training... And you've been at this for far longer."

Sarah briefly wondered if the length of her entire CIA service was part of what he'd seen in her file, but let it go as unimportant for the moment. "Chuck, according to __your__ file, one of your biggest strengths is tactical planning and execution. I wouldn't be surprised if you end up being groomed for a high level leadership position within the Agency one of these days. Until then, I'm in charge of your training and that __will__ include field training, so consider this to be a... preliminary exercise."

"All I can really think of right now is for us to call in back up and..." Chuck abruptly stopped speaking and shot forward in his seat – only to be hindered from going too far by his seat belt – to look out the front windshield. She followed his gaze and saw a large building just a few blocks ahead of them.

"Did you just flash?" she asked a few moments later, and held her breath while she waited for his response, gripping the steering wheel so tightly that her knuckles turned almost as white as his had been earlier.

"Yes," he affirmed as he fell back in his seat. "Seeing that building brought everything together. Even the Serbian terrorist. There's a bomb in that hotel and I'm not sure how much time we have before it goes off."

That was all the confirmation she needed. Sarah accelerated the car and her driving simultaneously became both more urgent and more controlled. Fortunately, Chuck seemed to hold no hint of anxiety, only steely determination. Just by a mere glance in his direction, she could see his mind already begin to work and calculate their options, and she felt a thrill at his obvious transition into spy mode.

"So... plan?"

"Plan is, once we get into the hotel, we run like hell to the ballroom and defuse the bomb," Chuck responded, his voice flat and his face set to grim determination. A second later, his expression relaxed and that __lightness__ of spirit she so admired during their time at the Italian restaurant returned, just like that. He then grinned ridiculously at her. "How's that for a plan?"

Sarah screeched to a halt in front of the front hotel doors.

"Works for me," she said, sending him a ridiculous grin of her own. "Now let's go diffuse a bomb."

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><p>This story was meant to stop at their general meeting at the training facility, but somehow the characters ended up in an Italian restaurant, then on a walk, followed by a flash on General Stanford's motorcade, then the drive to the hotel where his speech was being held.<p>

In other words, the plot bunnies took over.

Hopefully, the plot bunnies have not produced a boring story with sucky dialogue, plot holes you can stick the entire solar system in, and wildly overdone sexual tension between two people who have just met.

Your thoughts?

Also (and I hope I'm not being not too presumptuous in assuming that you'd even care), I thought I might give you a small excerpt from each of the remaining stories inside my head and ask which one you'd like me to write next, because I'm seriously having a hard time deciding.

**And here they are.**

1) She wasn't Agency trained, Carmichael could tell, but she sure did know how to fight; she very nearly had him pinned and immobile more than once. But he was better, as she was very quickly going to learn.

2) The house hadn't been lived in for years and there weren't any pictures left behind that might give her any idea of what her mark even looked like. There was nothing to be found in the house, in any files on any government database, or in any surveillance feeds around the world that gave her the slightest clue of how to find him. She had no idea how he'd managed it and the computer geeks at Langley were no closer to figuring it out. But she'd get her man; she always did.

3) She and her parents were the best in the business, but that didn't stop those... amateurs... from scamming them. The ease with which they'd done it greatly impressed her not-easily-impressed father just as much as it bothered the hell out of her. Still, she wasn't sure if she wanted to exact revenge on them, or ask them to join her family in their next venture.

4) She had lasted longer than the others, most of whom were considerably older, wiser, and more experienced than she. However, she held no illusions that she'd survived this long through any kind of special skill set or ingenious maneuvering on her part. Certainly, she was a very skilled agent who had finessed and fought her way out of dozens of dangerous situations during her decade long career as a spy, but she had never faced a foe quite like this one before.

5) The held each other for several long moments and Chuck thought about how ridiculously easy it was to just bask in her presence, despite any anxieties in his life. He got a thrill in knowing that his companion felt the same about him, though she never would admit to it out loud. But he could tell in the way that she allowed her usual vigilant, hyper-aware self to unbend, just a tiny little bit when they were in public and so completely, she was nearly melded to him, when they were alone.

6) "No offense, Director, but I find that extremely difficult to believe... impossible even."

"I assure you, Agent Walker, we've done our research, have tested him repeatedly, and found his ability to be quite possible," Graham countered as she stared at him in disbelief.

She'd seen this scam done a million times before and had been a party to it more than once during her childhood, so she was incredulous that an intelligent man such as the DCS would actually believe that psychic ability really existed. Let alone bring a psychic in as an asset.

7) "Please," the female voice gasped out as the woman who owned it reached out to grasp his shaking hand. The wet stickiness of her blood seeped through his fingers as he vainly put pressure on her wound. He longed for the life to be flowing out of him, instead of her. "I won't survive this. I can't. Promise me, promise me you won't let this destroy you."

"I can't," he rasped through his tears. "Please, you have to live. I can't survive without you."

He heard a distant sound that reminded him of the beeping of an alarm clock before he was pulled abruptly from her side. He struggled against the invisible hands that held him, fighting them to return back to her side... and awoke, gasping as he sat up in bed.

Damn, it was that accursed dream again.

8) Jenny suspected that Mary was going to be the mother figure she'd never had, because she could sense that this was a woman who protected her own, blood relation or friend, with a ferocity that rivaled a lioness. She saw it in the way Mary acted around her family and in the way her children, especially that cutie, Chuck, all seemed to adore her.


	2. The Analyst and the Valkyrie

Hey, all. This story has been taunting and tormenting me for almost nine months. I've reread, revised, and tweaked my work until I've driven myself crazy. It had gotten so long, that I thought I'd be forced to cut it in two in order to post it. If you pay enough attention, I bet you can probably tell where in the story I began tiring of the whole writing experience. I pressed on through the writer's block and the lack of motivation, though, and finally "finished" it.

In the last few months, my interest in Chuck fic – writing and reading – has significantly waned, as my interest in NCIS fanfic has fast become my newest obsession, which means you're probably not going to see any more Chuck stories from me after this any time soon.

I'm thinking about writing a NCIS fic, so if you like my stories and are a fan of the show, NCIS, then please keep your eyes open for something from me.

In case I never write another Chuck fic again for as long as I live, THANKS! to everyone who has read and enjoyed and reviewed my stories from this fandom. You are all awesome.

* * *

><p><strong>The Analyst and the Valkyrie<strong>

_**Present Day, July 12, 2007, 06:14, PST, **_

Chuck woke up early, feeling at ease from his unexpectedly pleasant dreams. He yawned widely, his jaw cracking from the strain, and stretched out his legs, wincing at the cramp that came from the movement. Something was weighing down his arm, preventing him from moving it without waking up the person who was sleeping next to him, cuddled so closely against him. He didn't mind and he didn't move it. No wonder he was having good dreams last night, a direct result of the company he was keeping.

Smiling, he looked down at his sleeping beauty, just taking her face in, as he was wont to do on the rare day that he was the first to wake.

A quick glance at his alarm clock confirmed that his alarm was about to go off soon, and for one brief moment he seriously considered just turning it off, just so he could stay in this moment for much _much_ longer. But the day was promising to be a busy one. And a life changing one, at that.

It was a day he had both looked forward to and dreaded at once, because it meant that it was time for him to be drawn back to the kind of messy life he'd once hoped to leave behind entirely.

His bed mate stirred a little and it was only a few moments before slightly sleepy eyes met his and crinkled at the corners when she smiled at him. He pulled her closer to him, kissing the top of her forehead.

"Hey, you," he greeted with a gentle smile, pushing stray hair away from her face. "Good morning."

She blinked at him, and then wound her arm around his middle, wedging herself against him. He could feel her gentle hum of contentment reverberate against his neck. "Hmm. Good morning."

The held each other for several long moments and Chuck thought about how ridiculously easy it was to just bask in her presence, despite any anxieties in his life. After a while, however, she reluctantly raised her head from his chest in order to look into his eyes, and not for the first time, he thought he might have heard an audible click of personal connection when their eyes met.

"So. Busy day today, " she said, smiling softly and he was mesmerized by the way her eyes twinkled from the early morning light as she tilted her head up. "You nervous?"

"I think I'm beyond nervous," he commented good-naturedly, his jaw tightening ever so slightly, betraying that despite the lightness of his tone, his nervousness was really weighing on him. His jaw relaxed when she brushed the side of his face with the back of her hand. When she pulled the hand back, he immediately snatched it out of the air and brought it to his mouth for a kiss, watching her face closely as her eyes hooded for a moment.

"You've been preparing for this day for a long time, Chuck. I know you'll do fine," she assured with a soft smile that had his heart soaring. He got a thrill in knowing that his companion felt the same about him that he did for her, though she had yet admit to it out loud. But he could tell in the way that she allowed her usual vigilant, hyper-aware self to unbend, just a tiny little bit when they were in public, and so completely that she was nearly melded to him, when they were all alone.

It hadn't always been that way, he sentimentally recalled with a smirk. In fact, the first time they'd ever...

"And what's that look?" Sarah asked, the sound of her voice both curious and amused, effectively bringing him back down to earth.

"Oh," Chuck responded lightly, running the back of his fingers across the forearm that was resting on him. "I was just remembering the first time we... uh... met."

"Were you now?" she said, smiling into his shoulder and giving it a quick kiss. "We certainly made an impression on each other, didn't we? I'd never have guessed back then that our initial hostility would eventually turn into what we have now. "

"If deadly glares could actually kill, I would've dropped dead right there on the spot."

"Well, it's a good thing you survived, then," Sarah said as she shifted her body until she was straddling him. The sensual smile on her face kept him frozen to the spot in anticipation; he barely dared to even breathe so as not do anything that could ruin this moment. "Just think of all the wonderful things we'd be missing out on... Like this..." She leaned down and drew him into a long, lazy, deep kiss that didn't care if either of them had morning breath or not. Before oxygen deprivation could become a serious problem, she broke the kiss and smirked at him in such a way that told him that she wasn't done with him, just yet. "Or this," she said, coyly. She moved slowly and trailed burning kisses down his chest as she traveled down and downward still.

"Oh, God," was all that Chuck could say.

_**One Year Earlier**_

"Sarah Walker is on the warpath." Chuck looked up from his paperwork at the sound of his friend's voice to see Bryce Larkin stepping into his office. Bryce dropped into the wheeled office chair that sat next to Chuck's desk. Chuck turned his own chair to face him, grateful for the brief reprieve from mission reports. "And word on the street is that her target is _you. _What the hell did you do to piss her off so much?"

"Piss her off... Moi?..." Chuck asked with mock surprise that was ruined by the hint of humor beneath his voice and the way the corners of his lips tugged upward. "Honestly, Bryce, where do you get these ideas? I've no clue what you're talking about."

"Now, why do I find that hard to believe?" Bryce responded wryly, then like an overactive five year old, spun his chair around and around several times before coming to a stop and sprawling back in the seat to grin mischievously at his friend. Chuck rolled his eyes at the childish behavior – not that he hadn't ever acted so similarly before, but still. "Really, buddy. She's got it in for you and I'm thinking the best thing for your continued good health would be to..."

"To what? Run away? Hide?" Chuck turned back to his paperwork, finally allowing his lips to lift up into a real, amused smile. He twirled his pen in his fingers before signing his name at the bottom of the page with a flourish. He glanced back at Bryce. "Since when have I ever backed away from an argument?"

"Almost never," Bryce commented, again wryly. "It's that compulsive need to _talk _that gets you in trouble every time. But really, this'll be no ordinary argument, you know. This is _Agent Sarah Walker _we're talking about here. Graham's wild card enforcer... Giant Blonde She-Male... Zillionth degree black-belt in all martial arts disciplines..." Chuck gave Bryce a pointed look. "Okay so I'm exaggerating, but only by a fraction. Point is, Chuck... She'll kick your ass."

"I can handle myself, Bryce. You know that." Chuck glanced over the next page of the report and signed at the bottom, then with a sigh, closed the folder and put it in his out-box. Finally, he was done and ready to go home for the day. "If Agent Walker wants to get into it with me, then all I have to say is..."

"Okay, which one of you jerks is Charles Bartowski?" a woman's angry – outraged – voice interrupted what he was about to say. Speak of the Devil and she shall appear. Despite himself, Chuck felt nerves flutter in his stomach for a moment. Though he had never personally met Sarah Walker, he'd heard her voice coming over the wire at least a thousand times, so he knew that it was she who was referring to him. He'd heard that particular tone at least a dozen times, and knew that whenever she used it, she almost always – in Bryce's brilliant words – kicked someone's ass, in a dramatic and often permanent way.

"Aaand that would be me," Chuck responded pleasantly, giving the woman standing in the doorway what one his exes called his "signature grin." The nerves were gone, but the adrenaline in his system was raging with the excitement of a potentially invigorating verbal, and perhaps physical, fight. She looked like a warrior goddess standing there, all righteous fury and readiness for battle. The nerd in him marveled, though he did not show it when he leaned back casually in his seat, resting his elbows against the arms and threading his fingers in front of him, smile still in place. "How can I help you, Miss...?"

"_Agent," _the angry Valkyrie emphasized with a clenched jaw and tight voice, "Walker, thank you very much." _Agent _Walker stalked across the room to stand right in front of Chuck's desk and slammed her hands down on it to lean her weight on the surface. She glared across the shortened distance between them. "So, tell me, _Chuck, _what the hell is your problem with the way I go about my work? You had absolutely no right...!"

And that was when his marveling stopped and Chuck abruptly became deathly serious, his grin slipping and his affable expression hardening so quickly that he could see a flash of surprise in her eyes at the change. He shot up from his relaxed position, leaned over his desk, and looked her straight in the eyes, their faces now less than a half foot away from each other. Walker tensed, but didn't move.

"No right?" he scoffed. His voice was hard as he countered, "I had _every _right, _Agent Walker. _Your actionsput two of my people – who by the way, I allowed you to take out into the field as a measure of good faith – at great risk, and to make things worse, it didn't start or stop there. If Rogers hadn't contacted me when he did, then I have no doubt at least one of them would be seriously injured_ or dead _right now. I do what I have to do to protect my people from harm, Walker, while _agents _like _you_ think only of completing the mission objective, no matter the human cost, even if that human cost includes their one of their own."

"Agents like me?" She asked, incredulously. "Seriously? Do you really want to get into that right now?" Sarah slapped the surface of the desk angrily before straightening up and towering over him once more. She sneered at him and turned mocking. "Well, I certainly wouldn't expect a mere _analyst _like you to understand how things really work in the field. The choices aren't always as black and white out there. And you think I don't consider the human cost?" She leaned against the desk again, her voice still hard and also low and deadly. "Well, let me tell you something, _Mr_. Bartowski, I value human life, and I value my fellow operatives. However_... however_, sacrifices are sometimes called for in order to save a mission, and consequently many more lives. Not that it would have actually been a problem. I had a perfectly good plan that would've gotten all of us out of there safely."

"Yeah, sure..." Chuck barely just refrained from rolling his eyes. "A plan that, _if _it had succeeded, still would've left a very high body count after you took out each of the suspect's men on your way out."

"Uh, guys," Bryce tried to interject into the argument, but neither of the two opponents heard it over the heat of their fight. "Graham is..."

"They were bad people!"

"Guys, really, you..."

"And they all have the right to due process..."

"Chuck... uh, Walker..."

"Due process!" she exclaimed, then laughed harshly. "They were bad people doing bad things and I had every right to take them out of the equation."

"Oh, is that what they're calling it these days. Sounds to me like a simple bloodbath, which is the last thing we..."

"That! Is! _Enough_!" a male voice boomed out loudly enough to wake the dead. A voice that was definitely not Bryce Larkin's. It commanded unquestioning obedience and the argument immediately ceased as Chuck looked up and Walker straightened and whirled toward the sound in surprise. The CIA's Director of Clandestine Services, Graham, stood there in front of them, arms crossed, barely controlled anger nearly causing the man to vibrate in place. Chuck vaguely noticed that Bryce was not in the chair anymore, or even still in the room. He rose to his feet quickly, in deference to their boss's entrance. "If you two are going to... disagree on things... then have the courtesy, at least, to keep it down while you're at the office. From this moment on, you will at least _try_ to keep a civil tongue in your heads. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir," Chuck and Sarah simultaneously and contritely responded and had the intelligence to say no more.

"Good." Graham nodded and relaxed his stance. "Sit down, the both of you. We have much to discuss."

Graham didn't wait to see if they obeyed him before turning to close the office door.

_**Present Day, July 12, 2007, 07:06, PST**_

Sarah turned down a joint shower, not because she didn't want to join him in there, but because she had somehow got caught in a phone conversation with Chuck's sister, Ellie. Since she and Chuck were heading to DC for the next few months, Ellie had tried her best to convince them to have breakfast with her and Devon before their flight east. And boy, true to character, Ellie was very insistent.

Chuck, the coward, was all too eager to leave Sarah to Ellie's gentle – ha! – persuasion without back up. He'd pay for that later.

Eventually, Ellie had her way, and got Sarah to agree, which she tended to do more often than Sarah was strictly comfortable. Sometimes, it appalled her how easily Chuck and Ellie could bully her into doing exactly what they wanted. Not that they called it that or considered it to be bullying. But she was an agent for the CIA, for pity sake, and had once successfully resisted torture for two months without breaking. Dealing with Ellie should have been child's play.

However, the part of her personality that longed to be accepted and, God help her, _liked, _more often than not won the battle of wills against the part of her that didn't give a crap what other people thought of her. She wanted Ellie to like her, to love her as she loved family, and apparently, it made her jump through the hoops she normally would have knocked out of the hands of those who held them.

She was all mixed up and confused and it was completely Chuck's fault. If he hadn't been so stubborn a year ago – and proved her initial assessment of him so completely wrong – then this never would have happened.

Sarah heard the sound of the shower shutting off and quickly found her towel and clothing. If they wanted to make it on time for their flight, they'd have to make breakfast quick. She was beginning to regret not taking Ellie up on her offer to let them stay at her apartment instead of this hotel, if only to save time.

Even though she did end up basking all night in the victory of that rare battle won. And made sure that Chuck reaped the benefits, as well.

Okay and regret gone. There was no way she'd be able to do _that _toChuck, knowing his sister was right down the hall.

Chuck opened the door of the bathroom, clad only in a low hung towel, and Sarah almost made it past him without incident before giving it up as a lost cause. She grabbed him for another thorough kiss that was equal parts giving and possessing. He hummed low in his throat and pulled her against him, cradling her head with one hand while his other rested firmly against her lower back. His wet, heated skin dampened her camisole and droplets of water transferred from his body to hers and trickled down her chest and between her breasts. The resulting flare of lust nearly had her yanking him right back into the shower with her and having her way with him once again.

Too bad they hadn't the time for it. Damn Ellie and her cajoling, pleading voice.

She pulled back reluctantly and looked up at his flushed face.

"Ellie's expecting us downstairs at eight. I'll try to make this quick," she informed him, tracing a finger down his bare chest enticingly as she slipped into the bathroom. As soon as she was inside, she slowly closed the door, watching him as he watched her in that appreciative manner that almost always had her wanting to lower her eyes in uncharacteristic bashfulness. When the door finally shut, she took a moment to lean back against the door with an airy sigh, like some stupid, lovesick teenager.

She mentally shook herself before pushing herself off of the door with a huff and undressing. Before stepping into the shower, Sarah took a moment to stare at her face in the mirror. It looked the same as it always did, but for one main difference.

That damn glow.

"Sarah Walker, you are well and truly done for," she admonished herself.

Her reflection gave no reply.

_**Ten Months Earlier**_

"_What?_" Sarah snapped at the man leaning against the kitchenette counter, casually sipping at his coffee while he watched her fill her own cup. Instead of frightening him away as she had frightened many a man, he simply smiled instead of rushing to escape from her.

"Nothing," he nonchalantly replied with a shrug and took another brief sip from his mug. "Just admiring your ever so sunny morning personality. It never fails to brighten my day."

"I am _not _in the mood to be antagonized today, Chuck," Sarah gritted out as she ripped open three sugar packets at once and dumped them with a little more force than was necessary into her cup. She stirred rigorously with a coffee straw and took a taste sip. No, not enough sugar. Sarah did her best to ignore her supervisor – ugh, she hated being considered a stupid analyst's subordinate. It still pissed her off how Chuck had somehow had enough pull with the Director to convince him pull her out of the field for the next several months. She ripped open another two packets of sugar, then took another test sip.

Much better, she thought to herself and drank a few more sips before she finally allowed herself to mentally acknowledge Chuck's presence. He was just standing there; thankfully not staring at her anymore, though obviously aware of her movements. She could still see a hint of a smile on his face and tried to guess what he was thinking. He was, no doubt, coming up with his next smart-aleck remark. He always seemed to have one waiting in the wings. And not just for her, but for every one he worked with.

She seemed to be the only one who ever took offense to anything he said.

She supposed she should just take it all in stride, but she just couldn't seem to resist using his words to her as a jumping off point to rile him up. But the only time his good-natured attitude ever disappeared was when someone or something threatened one of his own people, which she had learned to respect very quickly the one time she had tried to bully intel out of one of his analysts.

It had been almost scary, his reaction, and after that, she never attempted it again.

"Okay, I give up," she huffed, not wanting to wonder what devious thoughts he had in his mind, especially if they were in regards to her. "What's so amusing?"

"Nothing," he answered with his previous response, just as nonchalantly as before. "I just never took you for a sugar person."

"Sugar person," she repeated flatly, hiding the flare of irritation beneath a controlled exterior. She mentally prepped herself for an insult. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing," he said once again to her annoyance. "I just figured that you'd take your coffee black. My friend Morgan has this running theory that a person's overall personality can be quickly determined by how they take their coffee. This doesn't include fancy coffees, of course, just the classic, plain, bitter kind. For example, a person who puts vanilla creamer in his... or her... coffee tends to..."

"Chuck," she harshly interrupted, trying hard not to stare at him incredulously. "As fascinating as your friend's theory may be, we don't have much time to go into it. We need to be at your computer in five, remember?"

If she was a tad bit too rude, Chuck just didn't acknowledge it. Instead, he immediately brightened as if that were the best news he'd heard all day. "Of course, of course," he said, pushing away from the counter. "You've just proved his theory terribly wrong, anyway. Not sure if I'll ever have the heart to tell him, though... I'll see you in my office in five, then."

Chuck was out the door and heading to his office before she could reply. She was finding that he was quick on his feet and could be rather stealthy in his movements when he tried to be, which she had discovered the half a dozen times or so he'd managed to come up behind her and startle her.

She sighed and decided to top off her mug with more coffee and one more sugar.

She'd noticed earlier that he had put one packet of sugar and just a dash of plain creamer in his own coffee. She wondered what that said about his personality, then nearly slapped herself for considering it, even briefly. As if she actually gave credence to ridiculous theories.

She followed Chuck back to the office where they silently waited for the leader of one of their teams to call and check in.

The previous two months had proved to be exactly how she had expected them to be... as boring as hell. The tediousness of sifting through reams of useless intel that consisted of ninety-percent of the job was bad enough, but being unable to go out into the field to act on the rare piece of relevant intel nearly made her go stir-crazy. While she could admit that some of it could be faintly interesting, as she'd often been able to use her experience in the field to give a new perspective or to catch things an analyst might miss, overall, the whole thing was as tedious and unexciting as watching grass grow.

And that's what she continued to believe when, several hours into her shift later, all of a sudden things began to go FUBAR almost all at once.

The last team they were covering for the afternoon at first didn't check in on time, which was actually pretty normal and not something to be overly concerned about, but then one of the analysts from the main control room came rushing into the office, yelling something about police reports coming in about a gun battle in progress at the exact location their people were supposed to be.

At the same time, an alarm on Chuck's computer made a shrill noise.

"What the..."

Chuck immediately sprang into action, giving the analyst – Cohen she believed his name to be – an order to continue to monitor the police response and prepare to send their own back up to the site. Chuck, on the other hand, needed to find a way to patch into the team's communications system, which for whatever reason had gone all wonky.

"Is there anything you need me to do, Chuck?" Sarah asked, eager to contribute something to the very first interesting thing to happen all month.

"Actually, for the moment, I need you to stay right here with me and sit tight." Sarah felt her face fall in disappointment, which Chuck did not miss. Instead of giving her some smart remark, he looked at her with sympathy. "I know it's not fun for you to miss out on any kind of action, even on this end, but I do need you here."

Sarah nodded shortly and watched, fascinated, as Chuck's attention turned to the computer and his fingers flew across the keyboard as he stared intently at the screen in front of him, swearing softly when he didn't get the result he needed.

"Okay, then, if you won't cooperate, why don't we try this?" he said with steely determination, speaking to the computer as if it were a real person. A moment later, his body relaxed slightly in satisfaction. "Ah ha, gotcha!"

Chuck suddenly looked up at her. She was so taken aback by how quickly she went from watching his fingers move across the keyboard to staring him right in the eyes that she nearly flinched. There was a glint of something she barely, yet completely recognized in his eyes that took her breath away. In that brief moment, she felt connected to him in a wholly unexpected way.

Before she could fully process it, his attention was back on his screen and his fingers started flying once again across the keyboard. That's when things started to get really urgent. Sarah heard the sound of gun fire and shouting coming from the speakers, but before Chuck could try to communicate with them, the feed went completely dead, no gun fire, no shouting, no static, no alarm... just nothing.

"What just happened?" she asked, horrified.

"I don't know, damn it," Chuck swore and started typing urgently with one hand, while at the same time, reaching for his office phone to call someone. "Whoever is preventing the feed from…"

Before Chuck touched the phone, there was a ruckus coming from the control room that sounded suspiciously like a panic.

"Damn it, what now?" Chuck looked at her and she saw the order before he even issued it. She tensed in anticipation. "Sarah, check it out. And take care of it."

If he had been a field leader and put as much intensity and undeniable authority into an order in the field as he did right then, she knew she'd follow him to the ends of the earth.

"On it," she answered and rushed out the door, feeling exactly as she always did going out into a dangerous and challenging mission. God, did she miss this rush.

"All right, people. What's going on? Someone fill me in," she shouted across the expanse of the room and miraculously they actually heard her.

As it turned out, the problem in the control room was connected to their current problem. Two other teams fell into a very similar ambushes and Sarah spent the next intense forty something minutes going back and forth between the control room and Chuck's office, taking her orders from him, or strategizing with him, and then issuing orders back to the analysts.

She needed everyone to believe she knew exactly what needed to be done so that they would follow her orders without hesitation. It took a great deal of all her training to coordinate everyone in a calm, precise, and, most importantly, authoritative manner. She might have been surprise by just how much of her training and experience she was utilizing had she not more important things on her mind.

Fortunately, there were several other analysts who were keeping their composure amid the chaos and doing their job with competence. Sarah wasted no time in grabbing those people up and using them to help her return the room to some hint of order. She took mental note of the names of these analysts so she could recommend them for commendations.

A long time later, which seemed like forever, it was over.

All three teams in the field had been ambushed and lost communication, but with a little bit of magic from Chuck, they were able to regain that communication and keep it this time. By the time that happened, however, news came down that there were two of their own dead. Back-up teams had fortunately been able to make it to all three sites, which helped to reduce the casualties, but still they'd lost _two_of their own in what seemed to be a well-timed and coordinated attack.

Sarah couldn't help but feel responsible for the deaths of both agents, even knowing that she had done all she possibly could from where she was. She tried not to remember every single one of those god-awful moments – which had been many – of utter helplessness that she'd felt, knowing she was stuck here in an office while others had been the ones to put their lives on the line to physically go in and save the day.

While the entire control room was now only a little more quiet than usual as everyone did their jobs without the usual occasional chatter, Sarah sat in Chuck's chair, in Chuck's office, brooding over the events of the day.

"Hey, you doing okay there?" she heard Chuck say from the doorway and looked up to find him standing there with two mugs of freshly made coffee in his hands. A sympathetic expression was on his face for the second time that day and he appeared as haggard as she felt. His shirt was un-tucked and his sleeves rolled up unevenly; his eyes were tired, and his hair formed many more funny shapes than was usual. She took it all in without comment, certain that anything she might say about the state of his appearance could be repeated back at her.

"I'm fine," she answered, quietly and unconvincingly, nodding her thanks when Chuck placed a mug in her hand and sat down next to her. "Though I have to admit, your ploy has worked, probably better than you thought."

"My ploy?" he asked with completely fake innocence and instead of attacking as she had when he'd used that on her during their first meeting, she gave a small, mildly humorous laugh.

"You know the one," she said pointedly with her first genuine smile of the day, waggling a finger teasingly at him as she spoke. "Don't pretend you don't. But, seriously, tonight has me definitely feeling like I've formed a greater appreciation – and a greater sympathy – for _mere _analysts, such as yourself."

"Let me ask you something?"

"Sure."

"How does it feel when the great _Agent _Sarah Walker is proven wrong?"

"Oh, now don't you start_,_" Sarah warned with laughter in her voice. "Try not to get used to it, Bartowski. It happens only once in every tenth blue moon. You'll soon come to learn that everything I think or do is practically_ infallible._"

For the first time ever, when Chuck laughed in response, she felt like he was laughing _with _her rather than at her. And she had to admit she liked it. "Is that right? Well, we'll have to see about that, now won't we? I'll have to see what I can do about proving you wrong in _that _assumption, as well."

"Yeah, I'd like to see you try." Sarah flashed him a cheeky grin.

There was a comfortable silence between them as they sat in their respective seats and drank their coffee. At first taste, Sarah discovered that Chuck had doctored her coffee _just _as she liked it. In fact, she thought he may have actually made it even better than she ever could. Sarah eyed him, taking in his more relaxed appearance, wondering if she should tell him. But quickly decided against it. No need to make him even big-headed than he already was.

Instead, she merely savored her coffee without comment.

The office phone rang and Chuck picked it up on its first ring.

"Bartowski," he answered, then paused for a long time as the person on the other line spoke. Chuck looked over at her with an unreadable expression and she raised an eyebrow in question. "Yes, sir, we'll be there immediately."

He slowly placed the phone back down on the desk, giving her a funny look.

"What is it? What's wrong now?"

"Graham wants to see us right away. It's about what happened today."

_**Present Day, July 12, 2007, 14:31, CST**_

Chuck cracked a small yawn, while Sarah fiddled with the small plastic cup that used to hold water, as their jet flew somewhere over the central time zone. The closer they got to DC, the more her body seemed to crackle with a nervous energy that was completely unlike her. Just a few hours ago, she was reassuring him things would be okay. Now, it would appear that it was his turn. When he gently touched her arm, she jumped and reflexively reached out to make a defensive grab for him.

When she realized it was him, she immediately pulled her hand back and gave him a small, contrite smile. She turned in her seat and reached across the small gap between them to rest her hand on his wrist.

"Hey," she whispered and merely looked at him, her features softened and eyes almost searching.

He leaned over and gave her a quick kiss, then completely mirrored her expression and position.

"Hey," he said back, just as quietly, and closed his eyes in contentment when she brushed her hand down his cheek. "What're you thinking?"

"I'm just thinking... about how much things are about to change for us, starting tonight." Her soft expression shifted into a worried one and she opened her mouth to speak again, and then closed it before she did. A second or two, she tried again, not bothering to hide the vulnerability in her voice. "We have so much to lose, Chuck, now that we've just found each other. And I don't know what I would do if you were taken away from me, or died, or left me for something better or..."

"Hey, hey, hey," he gently coaxed when he realized that she was about to go into a ramble worthy of him. He played with a strand of her hair with a focused gaze for a moment, totally fascinated by the texture and different hues, before shifting his eyes to meet her vulnerable ones. "There are no guarantees; I could die in a simple car accident just as easily as I could on a mission, but I promise you that I will never, _ever _willingly leave you. I'm way stubborn to let you go. Remember that. _Trust _me, Sarah, and we will be _fine._"

"I do trust you, Chuck," she responded and kissed his upper arm, then looped her own arm though his, and held onto tightly to it as she pressed her cheek against it. "It's the world I don't trust. It has this unsettling ability to ruin even the best moments. It snatches away everything it can at every opportunity. I don't want it to take you from me. Or me from you."

"No matter what happens, Sarah," he said, reverently stroking the hand that was wrapped around his arm. "I will always fight to keep you. With every ounce of my considerable stubbornness, I'll hold on tight. You can count on that."

"And I'll hold on to you," she whispered so quietly that she wasn't sure he heard her at all.

Then next few minutes were spent in silence as each remembered how much their lives had changed since their very first encounter with each other, and the changes that were still to come.

"Chuck?"

"Yeah?"

"I love you," she said and he sharply inhaled at her declaration. This was the first time she'd ever spoken the words out loud, and he wasn't sure how to react, hearing them for the first time.

"I love you, too, Sarah" he quietly responded, his voice slightly choked. He kissed the top of her head, his eyes prickling from unshed tears. It worried him that all the progress they'd made in trusting and loving each other would be ruined by what was ahead, but he decided to just hold on to her words, repeating them back to her once more, in hopes that they would affirm a happy ending. "I love you, too."

_**Eight Months Earlier**_

They were all hanging out at the bar again, laughing and drinking beer, and shooting pool all night. But Chuck sat alone, nursing his second beer for the night, and gazed at Sarah Walker, who was across the room, playing darts with the usual admirers. When she hit the bulls-eye once again, the raucous group surrounding her cheered drunkenly and held up their beer bottles in salute. She took her own beer bottle and tapped it against several of theirs.

As if sensing his eyes on her, she turned to look in his direction, and almost smiled at him, before realizing what she was doing and immediately her smile became a cross between a scowl and frown. Someone approached her and touched her arm and the moment between them was over as she turned her attention to the clueless interloper.

"She still mad at you, huh?" Bryce Larkin sat on the chair next to his friend. "What did you do _this _time?"

"Nothing," Chuck protested, though it was a complete lie. Unfortunately, he had questioned Sarah's integrity in front of the Director of National Intelligence; even though it had not been his intention for it to come out that way. In retaliation, she had questioned his, which only made things worse for the both of them. Bryce gave him a pointed look. "Okay, I screwed up. Badly. Because of something I said, our effectiveness as a team is being questioned and now the fate of our new found partnership is up in the air."

"Ah, I see, I see. Well...don't worry too much about it, buddy," Bryce responded good- naturedly and gave Chuck a friendly slap on the back as he simultaneously winked at some random woman standing at the bar, waiting her order. "She'll get over it, eventually. As for the other thing, Chuck, I've seen your teamwork, and believe me, neither of you should have any reason to doubt you'll be partners for a very very long time..." Bryce took another sip of his beer and rose from his seat, his eye on the bar area, where his fair lady awaited him. He patted Chuck's shoulder, and absentmindedly wished him, "Good luck with that."

Chuck shook his head and laughed as he watched Bryce sidle up to his newest lady friend.

From his periphery, Chuck saw someone approaching him and glanced over curiously to see who it was. His mouth nearly dropped open when he saw that it was the woman of the hour herself. He silently followed her movements until she dropped down on the chair that Bryce had just abandoned. She took a drink of her beer and completely ignored him, though she was surely aware that he was in no state of mind to immediately look away.

When she continued to insist on ignoring him, he finally focused his attention on the pool game in front of them. Soon, he was grinning at what he witnessed. It was highly entertaining to see that Seth, a typically meek little analyst, turned out to be quite the pool shark. And because of the way he used his timid reputation, it was taking some time for the others to realize that they were being taken for all they were worth.

"Go, Seth," Sarah murmured appreciatively and he couldn't help but agree.

"Go, Seth," he repeated, a little more loudly, but not loud enough that anyone aside from himself and Sarah could hear it. "You show 'em."

When Seth sunk one consecutive ball after the other, then the final ball, his coworkers pretty much only stared at him in silent shock the entire time. At first, Chuck tensed to intervene in case of a fight, but like him and Sarah, those that Seth had so effectively conned were more impressed than angry. Chuck relaxed when everyone seemed to shake out of it as one and they enthusiastically congratulated Seth for a game well played and bought him a beer.

Chuck had to laugh when Seth hunched his shoulders in embarrassment and blushed when a waitress handed him his congratulatory beer and gave him a peck on the cheek. Seth – whom Chuck worried tended to withdraw a little too much into his own little world – then caught Chuck's gaze. Chuck raised his beer bottle in the air, a gesture which Seth bashfully returned before being drawn into a conversation with his new friends.

"And score one for the underdog," Chuck said.

"I'll drink to that," Sarah agreed and held out her own beer bottle to him. Chuck didn't hesitate to clink his nearly empty bottle against hers. "To the underdog," she continued. "May they always continue to show us all up."

"Here, here."

And after that, Chuck found that he had nothing else to say. And apparently neither did she. The air between them was a slightly less... uneasy... but he feared that testing the waters right now would set them back once again. He decided to wait for her to make the first move. The time stretched on and Chuck could practically hear the seconds ticking away, ever so slowly. It was probably two minutes, a lot less time than he'd expected, when she finally spoke to him.

"Listen, Chuck..." She paused as if taking a moment to collect her thoughts. "I just wanted to apologize... for what happened with the DNI."

Of all the things she could say, Chuck was startled that it would be this. _Agent _Sarah Walker, who hardly ever admitted she was wrong, was apologizing to him. For something that was hardly er fault.

"Really, Sarah, you don't..." Chuck began, but was cut off by a motion she made with her hand.

"Please, Chuck, let me say this before you interrupt." Chuck nodded in agreement and she gave him a a half smile. "Looking back, I now understand what you were really trying to say, and that you didn't mean to hurt me or imply that I was untrustworthy. Even if you had... I acted unprofessionally today. She took a breath. "I overreacted, and _that's _why both of our futures are in limbo right now. So, I'm asking you, Chuck, will you please forgive me?"

"Of course I forgive you," Chuck answered earnestly, knowing that protesting that she had nothing to apologize for would do no good. He just wanted to return back to that camaraderie that had been developing between them ever since they worked so well together during that crisis a few months ago. And if allowing her to apologize when she didn't really need to was the way to go about it, he was willing to do it. "But only if you forgive me, too, for putting my foot so effectively in my mouth."

Sarah looked like she wanted to protest, too, but had come to the same conclusion that he had about her. Instead, she simply said, "Yes, I forgive you, too."

Chuck grinned like an idiot at her and after what seemed to be a brief fight with her lips, she gave in to the urge to return his grin. He felt as though their relationship had reached yet another positive turning point. "So, how about a game of pool?" he asked to change the subject. "I promise you, I'm no pool shark. I'm _truly_ terrible at the game."

"Well, when you put it that way... You're on," she accepted his not-really-a-challenge, and then proceeded to mercilessly beat him senseless at the game.

_**Present Day, July 12, 2007, 19:00, EST**_

Sarah shivered, though she couldn't say for certain whether it was because the room was kept at such a low temperature to be described as frigid, or if it was because she was unnerved by the impersonal and creepy atmosphere of the room's entire set up. The room was the very definition of clinical, from the white walls, to the gleaming medical instruments, to the computer equipment, and all the way down to the examination chair that was a hulking presence in the midst of it all.

It reminded her exactly why she'd always dreaded doctor and dentist visits all of her life. She'd been imprisoned and tortured in places that had been much homier than this.

Sarah didn't have to look at Chuck to gauge how he was handling this. Even though they'd kept a slight physical distance between them – for professionalism sake – she could sense his nervous tension as if their bodies were touching. Unable to stand the lack of contact and reasoning that it would make perfect sense for her to want to do something to try to calm his nerves, Sarah turned to Chuck, placing a hand on his arm. She frowned at the fine, but noticeable tremors she could feel within the tension of his muscles. She studied his face, which had gone paler than she'd ever seen. She also saw that he had a sheen of sweat settle along his hairline.

"Hey," she said, searching his eyes, concerned. "You doing okay?"

"Yeah, just a bit nervous, I guess," he responded, looking uneasily at the examination chair. She followed his gaze, feeling just as uneasy as he appeared. They heard someone clear their throat and turned their heads toward the source. The tremors in Chuck's arm increased when one of the doctors nodded at them, indicating that things were ready. "It's just... a download of this size... well... it's never been done before and nobody knows for certain if it will even work, and there is so much that could go wrong... And Sarah, I'm just plain scared silly."

"I understand," she murmured and rubbed his arm gently. And she did understand; because quite honestly, she was scared silly, too. She could very well lose him tonight, if not to death, then to something far far worse. "But you do remember what you told me on the plane, don't you? About how stubborn you are and how you won't ever let go of what's important to you, not without a fight? Chuck, you're one of the bravest, smartest, and yes, the most ridiculously _stubborn_ men I have ever known. If anyone can get through this with flying colors, it's you. You trust me, right?"

Chuck gave her a weak smile and though the tremors in his arm didn't cease and the tension didn't go away, she could feel them both decrease, so subtly that most wouldn't have noticed. But she wasn't most people; she was a woman of great intuition who was more in tune with Chuck than she ever was or could be with even herself. She couldn't ever _not_ notice anything that had to do with him.

"Sarah, you are one of the very few people in this world, aside from my family, that I _do_ trust."

"Then trust that I know what I'm talking about." Sarah had a sudden idea that Chuck would definitely not approve, but for some reason, she couldn't stop herself suggesting it. She hesitantly asked, "Chuck... would you like me to be with you during the procedure? I can borrow a pair of those special sunglasses and sit with you, if you..."

"Absolutely not," Chuck said firmly and with quiet authority. "Even with the glasses, it's too risky for you. You know how important it is that at least one of us survives this. Please don't fight me on this."

Sarah wanted to argue, even though she knew that he was right. As much as she wanted to be there with him, to hold his hand while he went through the most frightening experience of his life, she couldn't. If things went wrong, then she would need to survive and go forward with their plans.

The fight that had led them to make the choice to put the Intersect in Chuck's head at great risk to his physical and mental health was bigger and more important than either of them as individuals.

At least that was the sort of creed she'd once lived by, before Chuck came into her life and began to challenge everything she thought she once knew. Revolving her life and choices around a creed that required a single life sacrificed for the greater good was one thing, but it took on a whole new meaning when she thought about how she might be end up losing the love of her life and being forced to face the cold world alone once more.

She knew that she couldn't ever go back to that old mindset – no matter how much she wanted to in that moment – but she _could_ honor his request.

"Mr. Carmichael," one of the doctors in the room with them quietly interrupted. "We're ready to start the procedure when you are."

Chuck glanced over at the doctor and then back at her. She could feel a burning tightness in her chest and she knew that no amount of breathing exercises would fully dispel the anxiety and fear. She sensed that it would remain there for days, whether the download was a success or failure

She let go of Chuck's arm when he started to back away from her. She watched with trepidation as he sat down and they strapped him securely into the chair – a mere precaution they'd assured her – and hooked him up to various machines that would monitor his heartbeat, blood pressure, and brain waves for signs of distress.

"Okay, Mr. Carmichael. Everything looks normal," said the doctor who Sarah knew to be the one in charge after examining one of the monitors. He wrote a note down on the clipboard he held in his hand. "Your heart rate is a bit high, and so is your blood pressure, but still within the range we need. This, of course, is to be expected. If I were in your shoes, I'm sure my readings would be off the charts. Anyway, we can begin as soon as possible." The doctor turned to Sarah. "Agent Walker, if you'll follow me..."

Sarah tore her gaze away from Chuck whose eyes were closed and hands gripped the arm of his chair.

"Can you give us a moment, please?"

"Sure, but only a minute, okay?"

"Yeah, thanks." Sarah watched the last of the personnel leave the room, and then she cautiously walked to Chuck's chair. She could hear his heart rate starting to pick up a little by the sound of the beeping on the monitor next to him. As soon as she placed her hand on top of his, Chuck's eyes opened and immediately focused on her. That keen intelligence that she had come to adore had always shone so clearly through his eyes. Her gut clenched as she realized that this very well might be the last time that she would ever have the privilege of seeing it.

"Sarah?" he asked cautiously, making her realize that she had been looking at him for too long without saying anything at all.

She swallowed hard.

"Listen, Chuck… I know you've said that you want to do this, but I want to hear it one last time. Are you sure? Because, nobody is forcing you to go through this… You – _we_ – can walk away, right now. All you have to do is say the word."

"Sarah, I'm sure." Even though she could still hear the worry in his voice, there was a determination behind it that she knew better than to question or ignore. Nonetheless, she stayed where she was, looking searchingly in his eyes, for a long moment before blinking and pulling reluctantly back. "I can't... won't... back down now."

"Okay," she breathed. "If you're sure, then let's do this. Are you ready?"

"A much as I'll ever be. You can go now, Sarah."

Sarah didn't want to go. Everything in her was trying to keep her grounded to the spot.. But knew she must not stay.

Recklessly not caring about maintaining distance for professionalism sake, she leaned over the chair and kissed him, then whispered in Chuck's ear what she should have declared to him at least a thousand times before today, rather than for the first time only a few hours ago. "I love you, Chuck. So much."

"I love you, too," he whispered back.

She backed away and turned and could feel his eyes on her as she walked to the door and stepped through the doorway, but she did not turn at any point to look back at him, feeling like she'd fall apart and go running into his arms, begging him to not go through with it if she did dare to look back.

Once she was out in the hall, the door swept closed and locked, a now impenetrable wall between them. Her legs trembling, she leaned briefly against the wall and slid down it and into a graceless heap on the floor.

For the first time in her life, she prayed.

_**Six Months Earlier**_

Chuck was preoccupied with a mess of paperwork that lay spread out before him when Sarah approached his office. Instead of going straight in, like she had done almost every day for the last five months, she hesitated just outside the open door, feeling like an like an errant child who had been tortured by her own conscious and was about to confess her disobedience. Considering how protective Chuck could be and how she had direct orders to stay at home for at least two weeks to recover from her last mission, she was concerned about how he was going to react to her presence.

Gathering her courage, she held her breath, keeping her eyes on Chuck as she rapped her knuckles on the doorjamb.

He briefly glanced up from a desk full of paperwork, then did a double take.

"Sarah! What are you doing here? " Chuck stood up abruptly from his seat, sending the chair rolling into the cabinet behind him with a loud clunk, and he was on his feet and across the room before she could react. For a moment, when he reached out to gently grasp her upper arms, she tensed, her first instinct being to fight back against attack. "You should be home right now, not... Wait, did something happen while you were at home? Are you okay?"

And, just like magic, the sound of his concern reminded her of just who this was, and how he would never purposefully hurt her, and her combative stance relaxed before she could cause him harm. Not knowing what else to do, Sarah stood self-consciously as he searched her face in concern, stiffening slightly when his eyes swept over the bandage that was covering the left side of her neck. It was only a quick glance over, but it nearly made her lift her hand to touch it in a nervous gesture.

"Nothing's happened, Chuck. I'm _fine_."

He stared at her blankly for a moment, then blinked.

"You're fine?" he repeated, flatly. "Are you kidding me? Sarah, you very nearly _died_ yesterday."

"I very nearly die on a fairly regular basis, Chuck. It's pretty much in my job description."

"No, it isn't, Sarah, and you know it," Chuck immediately countered with an edge to his voice that she'd first heard on the day he took her to task for putting his people at risk. And had heard it repeatedly every time since then that she'd taken a personal risk to her own safety to get the job done.

Each time, she was reminded of the one thing that she kept conveniently forgetting while out in the field... that after her time working as an analyst under him, he now considered her one of his own and Chuck Bartowski didn't take danger to his own lightly. "Your job description is to be a ghost, to work the situation and get out before anyone is the wiser. It's not to go rushing into situations like the freaking SWAT team, and putting yourself in harm's way."

"For God's sake, Chuck." Sarah rolled her eyes and pulled away from him. She turned her back on him for a moment, running a hand through her hair before turning back to face him. "Do we really have to get into this every time I finish an assignment?" She took a deep breath and conceding with underlying defiance, "Okay, so I took a big risk, but I got out just _fine_."

"Great," Chuck gritted out, screwed his eyes tightly shut and rubbed at a phantom headache with his hand. "Only _you_ would consider nearly having your throat slit getting out just fine," he tersely said, speaking mostly to himself, then opened his eyes to glare at her and address her directly. "Do you truly have no concept of how close you came to actually dying last night?"

Sarah felt a rush of indignation rise up in her at his point blank reminder of her close-call brush with death. The slice to the neck she'd received on the previous day's mission was merely a shallow flesh wound that would heal with barely a scar, but if the knife had gone just a little bit deeper and dragged farther along...

Well, then she wouldn't be standing in front of Chuck right now, being chewed out by him, now would she?

A chill raced through her at the thought, instantly canceling out the indignation she'd been carrying like a standard. She slumped tiredly with a small sigh and resignedly responded, "_Of course, _I understand how close I came to dying, Chuck." She watched as Chuck's angry mask softened at her admittance and she stepped around him to drop into the nearest office chair. "But it's not exactly something I really care to think about at the moment, okay. Can you please just drop it?"

Chuck sighed and she watched as he rolled his chair from behind his desk and placed it right in front of hers, and sat down, leaning forward against his elbows.

"You really shouldn't be here, Sarah," he told her gently without any lingering hints of reprimand. "After what happened, you need to get plenty of rest and recuperate a little. You're not doing yourself any favors by coming here."

"I know," she said. "I really do. I just wanted..."

She trailed off and looked down at her hands, unsure of how to phrase to him what she wanted, especially since she wasn't exactly sure, herself.

Maybe she could tell him that she was there because she wanted to do... _something... _to be … _helpful_ in some way, because it had only been one day and already she was starting to go stir-crazy from inactivity.

Maybe she could tell him that the prospect of being alone with her thoughts and insecurities and the bone chilling _fear _that accompanied the memories she'd rather forget had brought her here, to a place that made her feel secure.

Maybe she could tell him she came here to just have someone to talk to... someone she could be vulnerable with and not have to worry that she'd be judged or ridiculed.

She couldn't say for certain what it was and couldn't put it to words, but whatever it was, it had steered her here, to Chuck's office in particular.

"Sarah." She jumped slightly at the sound of Chuck's voice, and realized that she was still staring at her hands, and perhaps hadn't spoken for a long time. She lifted her gaze back to his face, which was filled an earnest concern that was almost too genuine to be true. "What is it you need, Sarah? You don't have to hide anything from me. I'd like to help you... if you'll let me."

Or maybe, she could tell him that she just wanted to be with him. Or around him. Or just in the same building with him, even. Because any time the memories came, she thought of him and they somehow... receded. Still there, but held at a distance by some invisible source.

But she couldn't tell him that. He wouldn't laugh at her, but she couldn't let him know. He didn't see her as she saw him, as more than a friend. He'd only pity her and she couldn't abide being pitied.

"Chuck, I..." she began, but trailed off and shook her head, frustrated with herself. "I just don't know."

"That's okay," Chuck assured her and reached out to her, and her eyes followed the movement. When his hand touched one of hers, her fingers jerked spasmodically in her lap of their own volition. She was certain he felt the instinctive action, though he gave actually indication. "You don't have to tell me anything. Just know that if you ever need a listening ear without having to worry about being judged or given bad advice, I'm always available." He pulled his hand back and smiled at her. "I know it's hard to believe, what with my tendency to go on and on sometimes... but I'm a pretty good listener."

"Yeah," she shakily said, raising her head and giving him a weak smile. "I know you are." She took a large breath. "But... I've got so much baggage I wouldn't know where to start, anyway."

Sarah ended the sentence with an awkward shrug, and looked back down at her hands, suddenly feeling rather shy.

"Well, maybe I could be your very own baggage handler..." Chuck replied and when her eyes shot up to look at him again, she saw that his face looked positively horrified. The very sight uplifted her mood and her lips quirked. "And that was a really lame thing to say, wasn't it? Sometimes, these things just come out before I can stop them. You know what, let's just pretend I didn't say anything so...utterly..."

Sarah chuckled at his loss for finding the correct word and grinned.

"Chuck," she said, suppressed laughter in her voice. Faced with a moment like this, she had to think that maybe it wasn't quite so wondrous that thoughts of him could push the bad thoughts away. He really was... well, Chuck. Humor seemed to follow him wherever he went and adhere itself to everyone he met. "Believe me, coming from just about anyone else that might come across as a really lame pick-up line. But you just make it sound so... sweet. So, thank you."

Chuck gave her a speculative look and she thought that maybe he was trying to figure out if she was mocking him or not. So, she just smiled at him as genuinely as she could, trying to project to him that she was being sincere.

He must have seen something that reassured him because he smiled back in relief.

"You're welcome, though I could've put it so much better. But the spirit of the offer remains." Chuck looked at her... assessing her. "You're looking a little better now, but Sarah, you should really go home and get some rest. Are you okay getting back by yourself? I can give you a ride if you are too..."

"No, Chuck, a ride home won't be necessary. You seem to have enough on your plate as it is." Sarah glanced over at the piles of paperwork on his desk. "I can't recall the last time I've seen so much paperwork piled up on your desk." Her eyes narrowed playfully, she gave him a sly half-smile and her tone turning teasing. "Are you sure you haven't been slacking on the job?" She tsked, shaking her head. "That's not like you all. What on earth would Graham think?"

"Well, I could tell him that it's completely your fault," Chuck retorted back, just as teasingly.

"My fault?" she asked, all false innocence. "Don't tell me you were so worried for me that you couldn't think clearly enough to get a little bit of paperwork done. I don't know... sounds to me like you might actually care about me."

She had meant it to sound joking, but when Chuck's look turned grave, her heart seemed to skip a beat or two. Her smile slipped, and then, just like that, his look was gone. He smiled wryly, or maybe a bit sadly; she couldn't say. "Of course, I care about you, Sarah. In the past several months, you've become more than just an analyst who works under me or an agent who has my voice in her ear during an important mission. You've become... a true friend. I would've been devastated if you had died."

Her vision suddenly blurred at his obvious sincerity. He was the first person she's known since childhood who has given a damn about her well-being, not as an agent, or a con artist's daughter, but as a person.

"Oh, God, I hope I haven't put my foot in my mouth again... Really, you should depart from my presence post-haste before I embarrass myself even further."

"No, no," she protested and waved her hands at him, blinking back the tears and feeling the contradicting urges to both cry and grin like a fool at him. "You just said exactly what I think I needed to hear. You have a knack of doing that that I just can't explain... but I am very grateful for." Sarah stood up from her chair, feeling much like an eighty year old, but one with a joyous spirit. Chuck followed suit. "You're right, I should be getting home." Sarah hesitated for a moment, then approached him, rising up on her toes and using his shoulder for leverage in order to give Chuck a kiss on the cheek. "Thank you, Chuck."

She began to walk away from him and when she made it to the door, his voice stopped her.

"Sarah?"

"Yeah?"

"If you'd like... uh... if you think you could use come company... well, I could drop by your place tomorrow after work and we can... maybe... order some take-out, hang out a little?"

She tried her best not to shout out an affirmative answer, not wanting to sound too eager... as if she were simply dying for his company. She turned around and started walking backwards out the door.

"Sure," she responded nonchalantly, just like a friend – nothing more – accepting an invite to... hang out... with her... uh, friend would. "I'd really like that."

She turned quickly back around, but not before catching a glimpse of Chuck's smile. The very smile that devastated her – mostly in a half good, half frightening way – on a near daily basis. She couldn't wait and hoped the anticipation of his company would be enough to chase away the nightmares and uncertainties... even if just for the night.

_**Present Day, July 12, 2007, 20:20, EST**_

The lights went down and for moment Chuck tensed, then had to force himself to take deep, relaxing breaths. If any of his vitals were off by a little too much – even a mere millisecond before the download – it might not take and they might have to start over again, best case scenario. Or worst, he might end up being a vegetable for the rest of his life.

Or dead... which might actually be considered mercy if you thought about the last alternative.

As he started to breathe in again through his nose, the screens in front of him started scrolling, faster and faster, through image upon image until they were all he could see. It seemed to last forever and until he was only vaguely aware of his body. His thoughts were now buried beneath the weight of Intel until he was a slave to them.

Then the images stopped and his eyes rolled back into his head.

The last and only image in his head before losing consciousness was not one that had been projected in front of him, but the smiling, loving face of Sarah Walker, mixed with the sound of her voice telling him that she loved him.

_**Five Months Earlier**_

Sarah Walker shot to her feet, her gun still in hand, and did a victory dance.

"Yes! In your face, Bartowski!" she crowed, then blew pretend smoke off of the plastic Duck Hunt gun she'd just used to beat her rival's score. "Better watch your back; there's a new Duck Hunt champion in town." Chuck just smiled, enjoying the way Sarah milked her win for all it was worth and continued her little impromptu dance routine. It was so rare to see her smile, let alone dance like a lunatic because she'd won something as simple as a video game, that he didn't dare interrupt her moment of victory. "So, how's it feel, Bartowski, to _finally_ be faced with some actual competition for once?"

When Sarah struck a pose worthy of the Charlie's Angels with her body angled slightly away from him, orange and gray plastic gun held at her chest as she winked over her shoulder at him, Chuck had to bite back a groan. She was just so very... adorable.

"Like I never should have introduced you to the game in the first place, that's how it feels," Chuck bemoaned melodramatically. "Man, Duck Hunt was supposed to be _my_ thing_. _I was supposed to awe you with my superior skill and you were supposed to despair that you couldn't possibly ever come close to achieving my level of gaming awesomeness. But, once again, you have stolen my thunder. Don't you worry, though. I will not allow you to revel in your triumph for too long. I demand..." He paused dramatically. "...a rematch!"

"Oh, really? A_ rematch, _huh?"

"Yes, you heard me right. A rematch. Your obvious beginner's luck against my superior skill." He lowered his voice, face turning exaggeratedly grave. "The question is... do you accept my challenge or would you like to spare yourself the trouble of embarrassing yourself and bow out gracefully right now?"

"Oh, you bet I accept your challenge," she responded, playing off on his playfulness with an ease that hadn't been there even a mere month ago. Their relationship had really come a long way since their very first encounter about half a year ago, and so had Sarah's sense of fun. It warmed him that he'd had a hand in bringing it out of her.

"It's decided, then." Chuck stood up and took a moment to stretch his muscles. "Next Saturday night, you and me... Duck Hunt rematch."

"You're on," she said, holding out her hand. He grabbed a hold of it and they shook on it.

"So, now that we've got that over with, how about a little change of pace. Movie?"

"Sounds great," Sarah agreed. "Your choice tonight."

"And thank God for that," Chuck couldn't help but tease with mock seriousness. "You're taste in movies is atrocious."

He grinned when she hit him playfully on the arm. "You better watch out, or else I'll be forced to show you what's truly atrocious."

"Oooh... Sounds scaaaary," he mocked, pretend fear on his face and in his voice as he wiggled his fingers in front of him. Chuck took a step back with an exaggerated wince, dogging another hit to his arm just in time. Sarah pretended to huff in outrage and sat herself down on the couch to watch him go to his entertainment center and take a look at his selection. "Let's see, let's see. Okay, we've got three choices." He grabbed all three choices and held them up one at a time as he went through them. "We have... _Napoleon Dynamite_.Ooor, if you'd like to go the more serious nerdy route, we have the ever classic _Blade Runner. _But if a romantic comedy is your preference, I'm sure that _Love Actually _will offer plenty to whet your appetite."

He watched her as she contemplated her answer, more than a little fascinated by the way she scrunched her entire face while she seriously entertained each choice. She then looked at his face a bit uncertainly, like she was trying to figure out how he might react to her choice and didn't want to make a choice that disappointed him. What she eventually chose mattered little to him. All he really cared about was spending time with her and he seriously doubted that he'd really be paying attention to the movie, anyway. He would most likely enjoy watching closely how _she _reacted to the action on screen.

"You know what?" she finally said with the kind self-assurance he expected of her. "I think I may actually be in the mood for a romantic comedy this time." A hint of humor lifted her face and lilted her voice. "A little change in pace from all the nerd movies we've been devouring these past few weeks might actually do you some good."

Chuck made a face at her teasing, knowing very well that she truly enjoyed watching so called "nerd movies" with him. Every once in a while, she'll even quote lines from the films they watched together or randomly interject references into conversations. It was always quite comical to see the stunned, awe-filled looks the more nerdy of his friends and acquaintances gave when she did that in front of them.

"Okay, _Love Actually _it is." As soon as he sat down next to her on the couch, he picked up the remote and used it to skip to the DVD's main menu, all the while feeling the weight of Sarah's gaze on the side of his face. He could practically sense the weight of inquisitiveness that, instead of pressing play, he turned off the volume and turned to face her with a partially amused smile. "What?"

"Oh, nothing," Sarah said, giving him a not-quite innocent look. She curled up on the couch and nodded toward the television, that mysterious smile still on her face. "Start the movie."

Chuck shook his head and wordlessly did as he was told. Two minutes into the movie, Sarah shifted and eventually moved to lean into Chuck's side. He forgot to breathe for a moment, but quickly adapted to her change of position.

He had been correct earlier. He was unable to concentrate on the movie. All that he was aware of the entire time was her scent and the warmth of her pressed against him. She spent the entirety of the movie wrapped in his arms and it felt like he'd died and gone to heaven.

_**Present Day, July 12, 2007, 21:36, EST**_

"Hey, Chuck, it's me... uh, Sarah," Sarah said as she sat down next to Chuck's bedside, feeling terribly awkward to be talking to an unconscious person. But the doctors had suggested it and she remembered hearing that people in comas tend to recover more quickly the sound of a familiar voice. Chuck wasn't exactly a coma patient, but Sarah was willing to try just about anything to get him back. "I don't know if you can really hear me or not, but you got through the download and all we're waiting for now is for you to wake up."

An hour ago, the Intersect was downloaded into Chuck's head. Though so far there weren't any signs that anything had gone wrong, Chuck was still unconscious and the wait for his return to consciousness was absolutely killing her. She scooted her chair closer to the bed and reached out in order to hold his hand, no longer concerned about appearing anything less than what she really was to this man. Luckily, nobody seemed to give their obvious closeness a second glance, and if they had, they were being very discreet about their feelings.

Sarah pretty much ignored – as much as a spy could ignore a potential threat– the nurse who came in to check Chuck's vitals and she focused on his lax face. He looked so peaceful sleeping there, his face showing none of the anxiety that had so often marred it in the last few months. What would be in that face, in those eyes, when he finally did wake up? Would he still be her Chuck or...

Sarah mentally shook herself out of the path of her thoughts. It would do neither her or Chuck any good do dwell on what now could not be helped. So, instead of thinking about her fear that Chuck would not be coming out of this with his mind and personality intact, she did exactly what the doctors suggested.

She talked to him. She reminded him of all the times they'd had together, and all of the things they had to look forward to. She earnestly prayed that her words, that her familiar voice would reach to wherever his mind rested, letting Chuck know which way he needed to go, so that he could anchor himself to her and pull himself back to where she was and where they could be together.

"... and do you remember that night, about three months ago... Well, of course you do, and oh, god, I can't believe you have me blushing... and I hardly ever blush..."

_**Three Months Earlier**_

Even though they'd both agreed that they'd leave work behind the doors of CIA headquarters and focus on their relationship when they were off duty, Sarah could not stop thinking about the bombshell that Graham had laid on both her and Chuck earlier that afternoon. And as she watched Chuck shuffle about the kitchen, cleaning every surface he could find and rearranging things that were perfectly fine in their original place, she knew that it was the only thing on his mind as well.

"Chuck, talk to me," she earnestly said as she leaned against the kitchen counter dividing the living room from the kitchen. "It's a bit of a role reversal for me to have to drag the stuff that's bothering you out into the open, I know, but I'd really like to return the favor every once in a while. Don't shut me out, Chuck. Please."

Chuck paused mid-scrub and a small smile quirked his lips, the first time since their meeting with Graham that Chuck had demonstrated a genuine levity. He swiped the counter one last time before tossing the dish towel over his shoulder and toward the sink. It missed the sink entirely and fell to the floor, either unnoticed by him or thankfully ignored.

"You're right, Sarah. I'm sorry, it's just..." Chuck shook his head and it concerned her that this normally talkative man was so at a loss for words. She was used to being the reticent one, not him, and she wasn't sure how to approach the situation from this end. After a brief consideration, she just decided to let him work through it in his own head. When he figured it out, it would most likely all come rushing out in typical form for him. After a minute or two, he brought his gaze back to her. "I don't know which part should scare me more... having a giant computer program placed in my brain, or going back into the field. I was never meant for field work, Sarah. It's why when the head of tech-ops job opened, I jumped at the chance."

"From what Graham said and what I've read in your mission files, you were an excellent field agent, Chuck," Sarah countered quietly, thinking back to the day that she had found out about his former status in the Agency. She'd been surprised, yet not surprised, especially when considering the kind of intuition he always seemed to have for someone who had supposedly spent his career behind a desk. "You had the potential to be one of the best."

"I was not meant for it," Chuck repeated firmly. He stared resolutely at her, the haunted look in his eyes more familiar than she'd like to admit. "The deception, the lies, the dark choices that way too often needed to be made. If I had stayed in, Sarah, it would have killed me. I would still be physically alive, but the state of my soul would be an entirely different matter. And now, I'm being asked to put myself out there again. I don't know if I can do that to myself again."

Sarah could certainly understand his feelings on the subject. How many times in the past several years had she questioned the state of her own soul? How many times had she felt dead inside? Chuck had brought her out of that dark place; he had annoyed and cajoled her, had made her laugh and made her cry and made her feel safe and unjudged and... and human.

Could she do the same for him, if or when they found their situations reversed? Could she help him keep his humanity intact? And by extension, hers? She couldn't say. Not until it happened.

"You have a choice, Chuck. Nobody is forcing you to do this. Not even Graham has the power to force you into it."

"No, he won't openly force me. But I've no doubt he'll find a way to coerce me into it, yet make it seem like it was my choice all along."

Cynicism was definitely another part to Chuck that she was partially unfamiliar with and it threw her a little. She had to agree, though. He was probably right. She had experience with that. It was exactly what Graham had done to her all those years ago, upon her own recruitment.

"You could leave the Agency," she suggested, though she doubted he really thought that was a viable option. He may not feel as if he were meant for field work, but she knew he loved his job as it was.

"No." He unsurprisingly shook his head. "I can't explain why, but leaving entirely just feels plain... wrong."

Sarah leaned further over the counter and placed her hands on top of his. His eyes left her face and stared down at their connected hands. "I wish I had the right words, the kind of insight to help you make the right choice for yourself, but I have a hard time enough time figuring out what the right choices for myself are. I can't make this decision for you, Chuck but just know that I will support you, no matter what."

"Thanks, Sarah," he whispered, and she smiled.

"No thanks needed," she responded, almost as quietly as he. "Just one last thing... If you decide to do this, know, too, that you won't be alone out there. Any time you feel like you are losing yourself, I'll be right there to help you through it. To bring you back to yourself. And I trust that you will do the same for me."

She knew which choice he was going to make, and he knew it, too, whether he acknowledged it or not. He could quite often surprise her, which was a natural result of the complexity of who he was, but in this, she was certain he would not.

The softly grateful look on his face made her heart melt into a pile of goo. He pulled away from her hands and rounded the counter into the living room. She stared up at him as he cupped her face and just stared at her, his eyes searching hers, as if looking for every thought, feeling, and intention that she possessed. She hid nothing from him and he must have seen something that reassured him, because soon he was soon pulling her into a sweet, loving kiss.

They broke apart, but as they stared at each other again, they knew that this kiss was only just the beginning for them, both for tonight and for a long time to come. Wordlessly, he pulled her through the apartment and into his bedroom, both of them stealing kisses and caresses wherever they could along the way.

They soon forgot their troubles, just for a while, choosing instead to concentrate on the passion that was between them.

_**Present Day, July 13, 2007, 02:00, EST**_

He could hear a voice calling from a distance. Well, the voice wasn't actually calling to him, in the sense that it was saying, 'Hey, you. Come here! I want to talk to you!' No, it was more of a hum of pleasant background noise, very pleasing and very familiar, and a sound that could never possibly grow old to his ears. Whatever was making that sound, he wanted to be near it.

He felt like he was floating steadily upward. It was a gentle rise, yes, but it also felt as if world was shifting one way and he another and the unsteadiness of it all made him feel dizzy and lightheaded and a little motion sick.

He couldn't stop it, though, and he knew that he could bear it – _would_ bear it – if it brought him closer to that voice that reminded him of...

"And remember the day you introduced me to Ellie," the voice was saying and it was just as pleasant nearby as it was far away, maybe even more so. He could get used to this. There was a light laugh. "I have never been so nervous in my life. Me... nervous. I tried to treat the entire situation like it was a mission, but there's something about you Bartowskis that..."

He felt a part of his body convulse, a quick movement of a limb that he hadn't remembered he possessed. It made the voice pause.

"Chuck?" the hesitantly voice asked and it was so familiar to him. He knew it belonged to someone, whose name he could not quite place. "Hey, can you do that again for me, Chuck? Can you move your hand again?"

That voice. Sarah.

Yes, that was her name. Sarah.

"Please Chuck, just move your hand, one more time."

This time, the movement of his hand was a deliberate choice on his part.

"I think he's waking up," the voice – Sarah – said again, but it sounded this time like she had turned her head away to talk to someone else, somewhere else. "He just moved his hand. Twice."

There were more voices, more sound filling the space around him, but it wasn't very nearly as pleasant as that one voice. Sarah's voice.

It was too much for him, more than he could face. He had to get away. But only for a little bit. He needed to come back to her...

"Sarah," he heard another voice say, breathe out like a sigh.

He thought it might be his own voice. Before he could remember the sound of his own voice, he started to drift away. But not before he heard Sarah say, "Yes, Chuck. It's me. I'm right here. Everything is going to be fine. You can go back to sleep now."

He obeyed Sarah's voice and allowed himself to drift back off to sleep.

_**One Month Earlier**_

It had been a long and stressful day.

Which made it an especially pleasant surprise to walk into his apartment after work to find Sarah Walker standing in his kitchen, pulling something out of the oven that smelled deliciously of chocolate. Sarah wasn't much of a cook, and unfortunately, he wasn't much of one either. But she sure as hell made an incredible chocolate souffle that he suspected even Ellie would be envious of.

He breathed in the scent with appreciation and anticipation. His mouth watered at the very thought of the taste of chocolaty goodness melting in his mouth.

"Hey, Sarah."

Sarah turned around, hot souffle dish held firmly between two gloved hand, and cautiously walked to the kitchen counter to place the dish on a metal cooling rack.

"Chuck, welcome home," she greeted him with a radiant smile. "You get everything squared away at work?"

Chuck sighed at the reminder that today was the day he had to hand over the reigns to the man who would be taking over his position as head of Tech-ops for the foreseeable future. Thankfully, his replacement was someone he was confident could handle the demands of the job very well. However, the proficiency of the new tech-ops head was the least of his cares.

Chuck had left the building at Langley, somehow knowing that he would never be coming back to the tech-ops position that he had worked so hard to earn those years ago, despite Graham's reassurances that the position was waiting for him when this assignment was over.

"It went fine," Chuck said, speaking into her ear as he wrapped his arms around her stomach and gave her a gentle hug. He sighed deeply. "I'll miss it, you know."

Sarah leaned further back into his embrace, reaching up and pressing his arms closer to her body with her hands. "I know," was all she said.

They stood there for a very long time, just holding onto each other, not bothering – or needing – to say a single thing. Chuck found that he did not mind the silence. Sarah tilted her head slightly to the side and the new position exposed her neck to him. He lowered his head and pressed a kiss to the spot where her neck and shoulder met. He could feel her sigh contentedly and that spoke more to him than any words she could have ever spoken.

After a few minutes, she slowly turned in his arms and he held her loosely as she looked up at him. She reached up and with her hands against the back of his head, she pulled him down for an almost chaste kiss.

"You have me," she said, sounding a little unsure of herself and uncharacteristically timid. "I know that might not seem enough... but..."

He shook his head, tears coming to his eyes upon realizing the impact his attitude was having on her emotional well being. Her own life was as much affected by this as his was. He cupped her face, staring into her eyes and with as much sincerity as he had within him, he tried reassure her. "No, it is enough. _You... _You are more than enough. No matter what position I hold within the Agency, the important part is that we are facing this together." He paused. "I love you, Sarah."

He watched as Sarah closed her eyes as if trying to hide and contain whatever feeling were fighting to the surface at his words.

She opened her eyes again and those feelings shined for him, as visible to him as the stars on a clear, cloudless night. He did not feel any disappointment when she did not return the words. He could see that she returned his feelings, just by looking at her glimmering eyes.

He leaned down again and fervently kissed her.

_**Present Day, July 14, 2007, 15:12, PST**_

"That's very good, Mr. Carmichael," the doctor in charge of the Intersect download said after they had tested some of Chuck's new abilities. "That should be enough for today. We don't want to overdo things, especially this soon after the procedure." He stared sternly at Chuck, his glare reminding her a lot of Graham's when he wanted to be obeyed without question. "If you experience any negative symptoms, no matter how small they seem, I strongly insist that you tell someone _immediately. _Don't brush anything off as insignificant. And for God's sake, don't sacrifice your mental and physical health for the sake of the intel placed in your mind. The so-called "greater good" has gotten along just fine without the Intersect for a very long time and can continue to do so for much longer."

Chuck, whose mental capacity and acuity remained unchanged after the download, much to Sarah's relief, opened his mouth to speak, but Sarah beat him to the punch. "Don't worry, Doctor," she said, fixing her own stern gaze on Chuck as she spoke, quite enjoying the slightly intimidated look on his face that resulted. "I'll make certain he takes care of himself. He wouldn't dare cross me."

The doctor chuckled. "No, I imagine he would not. Well, then, I'll leave him in your more than capable hands and take my leave. I will check on you again tomorrow morning, Mr. Carmichael. Be sure to get some more rest. "

"I will," Chuck promised. "Thank you doctor."

"Yes, thank you," Sarah repeated.

As soon as the doctor left the room, Sarah scooted her chair closer to Chuck's hospital bed and grabbed a hold of Chuck's hand, bringing it up to her face and holding it against her right cheek as she kept her eyes on him. Before, she'd had a hard enough time trying not to stare all the time, but after he woke up from his mini-coma with his mind and soul completely unchanged, she found it near impossible to keep her eyes away from him. He was still her Chuck, and to her, that was _miraculous. _

"What's going on in that complex mind of yours, Sarah?" Chuck murmured after a while.

"For a... while, I thought for certain I was going to lose you," she honestly responded, her voice shaking slightly. She closed her eyes in an attempt to keep from breaking down completely. "I thought that you were either going to die... or if you lived, that you would only be a shell of your former self."

"Well aside from a slight... physical heaviness... inside my head, I'm still me," he said, relaxing back into the raised hospital bed. "I haven't lost any memories. I no longer feel any sense of disorientation or confusion. The ache in my head isn't even that bad. But I guess the real test will start when we're out in the field. The "flashes" are pretty intense and they could be a major distraction, especially when they come unexpectedly. I'll need to learn how to control them and hide them when they happen. Otherwise, I could be a real liability out there..."

Sarah patiently listened to him ramble without interruption as she knew that this was how he sometimes processed major life changing events. And when he was done, or she'd had enough, he would...

"Oh, for God's sake, man," someone gruffly interrupted behind her and Sarah started at the unfamiliar voice. She jumped to her feet and turned to find a man standing there, military written all over him. He looked familiar – but she couldn't quite place him – and his expression appeared to be somewhere between vaguely amused and disgusted. "I guess it was too much for me to expect that you'd have grown out of that whole... running off at the mouth _nonsense_ by now. If what I've just walked into is any indication of what I'm going to have to put up with, I think I may end up going insane within a week."

"Well, hello to you, too, Major Casey," Chuck said wryly and a light bulb lit in Sarah's head. So, that's where she knew him. Looks like the NSA finally decided who they were going to partner them with and she had to admit, she wasn't displeased by their choice. John Casey had an excellent track record, though some in the major intelligence circles consider him to be on the verge of burning out. "It's good to see you again, too. How's it been since we last saw each other in... Prague wasn't it?"

Major Casey let out a low growl of displeasure that had Sarah eyebrow lift. Sounds like there was a story there and judging by the grin on Chuck's face, it was an entertaining one. She'd have to see what she could do to get the whole story out of him one day.

"Major Casey. Sir," Sarah intervened and gave Chuck a pointed look that warned him that she'd be interrogating him about the details very soon. She walked toward Casey, holding her hand out for him to shake. "I'm Agent Sarah Walker. It's very nice to meet you."

The Major grunted and briefly glared at Chuck, but politely met her half way and gave her a firm handshake.

"Agent Walker," he shortly greeted her back, his voice still gruff. He turned to Chuck, who was grinning with an almost unholy glee. "And yes, Bar – _Carmichael_ – for your information, the last time we saw each other was in Prague." He paused and gave Chuck an assessing look before adeptly changing the subject. "I have to admit, Carmichael, I'm surprised you've ended up back in the spy game. Thought you were out for good."

A shadow passed over Chuck's face before he brightened.

"Yeah, well, you know me. I can never seem to pass up an opportunity to serve the greater good." He gave Casey an assessing look in return, his more mocking than serious. "Thought you said you'd voluntarily go through water-boarding before ever working with me again."

Major Casey made a scathing comment in return, and Sarah remained silent, stepping back and crossing her arms to watch their back and forth, amused by the interplay between the two. Though they were... talking smack?... it didn't feel at all like either of them had any true animosity toward each other. The interaction sounded almost like the kind of ribbing you'd expect between close, but competitive brothers.

She had a feeling the dynamic of this team was going to be very interesting, especially with the addition of this new member.

Chuck caught her eye and he smirked slightly, as if he knew exactly what she was thinking and was thinking the very same thing at the very same time.

Yes, it was going to be a very interesting dynamic, indeed.

Since she knew that from the angle she was standing, Casey would not be able to see her, Sarah shook her head in amusement and mouthed the words, _I love you._

Delight spread through her at Chuck's acknowledging wink and smile.


End file.
